RAIN
by ILoveJorja
Summary: Grissom goes to Sara, in California. She seems to be going through a strange internal process. A lot of water falls from the sky. GSR. Angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Grissom goes to Sara, in California. She seems to be going through a strange healing process. Post Goodbye and Good Luck. A lot of water falls from the sky. GSR.

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER ONE**

His cell phone bleeped and Grissom took it out automatically, barely taking his eyes from the scene. A naked dead woman, sprawled on her back, neck bruised, eyes open. Nick knelt by the bed as if in prayer, a camera to his face.

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE**

Grissom pushed the button.

**From: **

**To: **

**Subject: **RE:re:re:re:re: Dear Sara

**Come to me.**

**Lat. 40.695° W Long. 120.871° N**

His eyes saw the sender's name and the three words. Come to me**.** That was all it took and he was rushing for the door. Nick yelled after him, "Gris! Hey! Where are you..." and he barked some automatic command, his fingers grasping his keyring as he silently brushed by an astonished officer and then he was speeding away.

"Come to me." Grissom could hear Sara's husky voice saying it.

Sara.

_Come to me._ _Of course I will I will go or do or say anything Sara. Anywhere. Anything. Anything at all. Anywhere you need me._ _I will._

"I'm coming, Sara," Grissom told the night and the road.

He was miles down the dark street when his mind caught up to his heart and he realized he was in the crime lab vehicle with evidence in the back, so he turned automatically and reached the lab on autopilot. Grissom found Catherine in the hall, looking at a folder as she walked.

"Catherine!!"

"What? Gil?"

"I have to go. Now."

"Go?"

"It's Sara."

"Oh." Catherine's face transformed from confusion to concern to understanding.

"Go–of course–is she alright?"

Grissom tossed her the keys and strode briskly to his office, got his bag, and he was back in his own car and in motion in a breath as if he'd rehearsed this sudden departure for days. In a way he had. They'd barely been in touch since she kissed him in front of Hodges and then fell out of his life, with only a page declaring her love and her sorrow and her need to go.

_Come home Sara. Come back to me._

Sara's letter, crumpled but folded carefully, was in his pocket. It was taken out and read at the end of every day, read again, and then replaced in the pocket of the next jacket he wore. Day after day.

Sara had left everything behind, her whole life.

_That can only mean she is coming back, or will tell me to come after her. When she's ready._ He told himself that, night after night, hoping for either, waiting. Waiting.

She didn't answer her cell phone on that horrible night or any of the empty days after but she did, later, respond to his frantic text messages, so Grissom knew she was alive and on her way to where she needed to be. They exchanged brief texts at odd hours, days apart, too emotional to speak on the telephone, too hurt to see each other's faces. Neither really said much to the other, just reassuring words of love and regret. Pain. So much pain. Hope. Promises of forgiveness. Worry. Need. Love. Hurt.

**I miss you. **

**I miss you too. **

**Where are you?**

**I love you, Gil. **

**I love you Sara.**

At last she had told him she was in California. _Of course–where else did she have to go?_

"Our life together was the only home I've ever known. I wouldn't trade it for anything." Grissom could hear her say these sad words in his head, her voice so choked with pain and laced with regret.

So he drove toward California. _Wait. There was more._

Grissom pulled into a gas station and picked up his cell phone, still open, still on the message. He read off the coordinates and smiled to himself. _That's my clever girl. That's my Sara._

Grissom punched the numbers into his GPS unit and there it was, a blinking green dot with a line stretching from him to her. His fingers typed on the tiny keyboard of his phone.

**I'm on my way**.

**SEND.**

**MESSAGE SENT.**

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: In the last chapter, Sara's text message had some made up email addresses from Sara to Gris but this site doesn't publish those. Hope there was no confusion. Thanks for reading and for your encouraging words. I have the best reviewers!

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Grissom drove on through the night, his thoughts and emotions swirling. _Hope she's OK. Hope nothing happened to her. She's already been through--been hurt--so much._

The rain started fifty miles after he crossed the California border. Hard cold rain. Gil thought back to that rainy night when Sara was pinned under that car in the desert, the rain pouring down on her. Rain, especially at night, always brought up that horrifying night in his mind.

_Why couldn't I protect her? Why didn't I stop Natalie before she almost killed–drowned–my Sara?_ No matter how many times Sara assured him that it wasn't his fault, he could not seem to forgive himself. _If Sara had died that night...all alone_...that's where his thoughts would halt, and he would struggle to distract himself in work.

Work was all he had now. His empty house held no appeal. Without Sara, it was just a place to sleep, and fitfully at that. Bad dreams. Never had he had so many, or so vivid.

Grissom flicked his eyes between the road, his rearview mirrors, and that blinking green light that slowly grew closer to the pale blob that was him. _I'm coming to you, honey. Getting closer. _The wipers beat and stroked the windshield and the headlights of the other cars lit his face eerily. Grissom kept driving through the pouring rain.

Rain. Would it never end? The sky lightened slightly with a watery white sun behind him as he finally got so close that the GPS map showed individual streets. Sara seemed to be right on the beach, not surprisingly; she always loved the ocean and missed it in their desert city.

At last he pulled up in front of a small simple house, the dunes beyond. Grissom heaved a sigh. He released his grip on the steering wheel, only now noticing how tightly he had held it for hours. He flexed his fingers and pain shot up his arms. Grissom got out and staggered, his legs and knees were tight and aching too.

The rain instantly drenched him, but Gil didn't notice much. He stumbled up to the door and pounded on it. No answer. No sound inside, and the lights were off. He pounded harder.

"Sara! SARA!" Grissom pulled out his cell phone and called her number. He heard a faint ringing and followed it, the phone still open in his hand, as he squelched around to the other side of the house and kept yelling her name.

There was a blotch of white, a dark figure, lying prone in the sand. The phone was ringing from it.

"SARA!!" he screamed, panicked.

He ran and fell to his knees beside her and his fear melted to concern to see her eyes look into his. She was smiling slightly at him, but didn't speak.

"Sara!! SARA! Are you hurt?"

"Grissom." Her voice was flat. He struggled to hear her over the rain slapping on his back. There was a crack and rumble of lightning and thunder behind him.

Grissom pulled her up in his arms and held her, asking frantic questions. Sara hugged him back passively.

"Let me down. Come lie down beside me," Sara told him calmly but firmly.

"Honey. You're freezing! What..."

She disengaged herself and lay back down. Her white shirt was slick and he could clearly see her breasts and stiff pink nipples through it. She had jeans, black with rain, but nothing else on. The skin on her arms and face was white, so white, her lips pale.

"Grissom. Lie down. Please?"

_Is she crazy? Has she finally lost her mind after that one last message?_ _Or can't she get up?_

Sara seemed so doggedly determined that he decided to humor her. So Grissom lay down and held her cold body in his arms.

"Better," she sighed. "Look!" Sara pointed straight up at the sky.

Grissom turned on his back and looked up obediently. "What? I don't see anything."

"The rain, Gris. Look at the _rain_. How it falls. Not straight down, but kind of swirling before it strikes the earth. It's beautiful."

"Honey," he said desperately.

"Hush. Look at the rain."

So he did. She was right. He had never watched the sky rain straight down on his face before.

"It is...very...I never looked before."

"I know!" Sara cried out, delighted that he understood. "We never really see it, do we? We just hide and duck under it, and curse the sky. But...there would be no life, if there were no rain," she concluded dreamily.

"Yes. You're right, Sara." Grissom was still worried, still scared for her, but was reaching out in the only way he could think of, now.

They gazed at the sky together.

"Look!" Grissom said, pointing. A huge dark cloud hung over the sea, and brilliant yellow lightning flashed within it. The water fell in sheets from it down to the waves--dark and high and tipped with white. Just as they looked, a tremendous bolt of lightning crashed to a tree on a headland, not far away, and its thunder boomed almost immediately to their ears.

They both jumped at the noise, then laughed at themselves.

The wind picked up and Grissom shivered.

"I...I'm cold, honey. Can we go inside?"

Sara, who seemed to have no care for her own well-being, instantly turned and said with concern, "Yes." She looked like she was only just now noticing that he was there, and who he was.

"Yes, of course, Grissom."

They helped each other to their feet.

Grissom felt his fear return. She seemed so strange. So distant. Here, but not here.

_Come home Sara. Come back to me._

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER THREE**

As soon as Sara stepped over the threshold, she stripped off her wet white shirt and threw it. It landed with a splat. Without a word, she struggled her wet jeans off too and dropped them carelessly. She had no underwear.

Grissom glanced at her as he took off his jacket and tried to find a hook or something to hang it to dry. He had a bag with the bare essentials, a single change of clothes, in his car, but was more concerned with getting Sara warm and dry again now. He took his own wet clothes off, watching her, growing aroused.

In moments, she stood before him, looking away, nude and shivering lightly. Her slender body was even more so, the little rounded belly flat and her breasts and nipples tight with cold. She moved about the room restlessly, her skin ghostly white and her dark thatch of hair a stark contrast. Grissom briefly let his eyes caress her body. _Three weeks? Has it been three weeks since we've been together? It seems like three years._ _She's so beautiful. So–unselfconscious. Like a wild, beautiful animal. A deer, maybe._

"Hey, how about a hot shower, honey?" he said lightly.

She started and turned at his voice. Seeing his naked aroused body, an odd look contorted her features. _Why does she look at me that way?_ Grissom covered himself with his hands, feeling an unfamiliar shame.

Sara just turned and giggled with embarrassment and ran into the bathroom. The sounds of running water filled the empty room.

Grissom sighed and looked around. _Let her go. I don't know what's going on but_.._her well-being is more important than your libido._ It was a sparse room: bare walls, a small couch, a ratty rug, a desk and chair, a TV, and a stack of books on the floor. There was a tiny simple kitchen with a table and two battered wooden chairs, and a bedroom adjoining, just a double bed and a dresser and lamp.

He gathered all their wet clothes and the others scattered all over. _Strange–she's usually so meticulous. And there's trash and dirty dishes too._ Grissom found a small washing machine in a closet and threw all the clothes in and started it up, tying an old beach towel around his waist in the meantime. He threw away the trash and washed the dishes as he heard the shower water stop.

Sara wandered back in, still naked, rubbing a towel in her hair absently. She smiled at Grissom and he brightened. The warmth and color had returned to her and she seemed more present.

"Hi. I'm so glad you're here. Go shower and I'll make us some tea."

"Tea sounds wonderful, dear. Thanks."

Grissom felt better as the hot water pounded his weary body and he soaped all the grit and sand off. He washed his hair and rubbed a finger over his teeth and dried off, then donned the beach towel again as he had nothing else to wear.

Sara was in a robe, sitting at the table with two mugs of tea when he came out. Grissom sat with her and they sighed with pleasure as the hot liquid warmed them. He didn't really know what to say, though. _How do you ask if you think the woman you love more than life seems to have lost her way? Or maybe her mind?_ He shivered and Sara looked at him kindly and fetched a blanket and put it around his shoulders. Gil looked at her gratefully, remembering her same caring gesture from years ago.

"Thanks, Sara."

"You're welcome. And you look like you could use some rest."

"Yes. I am tired," he admitted. "Will you join me?"

"Okay," Sara said simply. She went into the bedroom and put on a T-shirt and some soft cotton shorts and tied the drawstring up. Grissom put all the clothes in the dryer and joined her.

"Uh, I don't have anything dry to wear," he told her.

"Oh. Did you bring anything else?"

"Yes–a bag–in the car..."

"I'll get it," Sara instantly offered. He protested but she insisted and she threw some clothes on and fetched his bag. Grissom drew a drape back across the window in the bedroom. This was the best feature of the little house. A big picture window framing the ocean. The rain had let up to a drizzle and the sea and sky were dramatic; big black pounding waves he could hear through the glass and scattered dark clouds shot with yellows and dark blues.

Sara joined him and he put his arm around her and squeezed. She leaned her face in and they kissed tenderly.

"I really am glad you're here, Gris. I missed you."

"I missed you too, love. So much." He turned and cupped her sweet face and kissed her.

They settled in bed together under all the blankets they had, she curled in his arms, and he with his head propped on a pillow, looking out at the sea as she fell asleep. Eventually he fell asleep too.

Twice he was awakened by her thrashing and whimpering inside a nightmare. The first she seemed to recover from easily; she only murmured an apology and fell back asleep. The second was worse. She was making muffled screams and her outstretched arms and legs flailed. Sara's dark eyes were wild and glittering and she stilled and stared at him so strangely that he was frightened for her.

"Sara. Sara honey. You're safe. I'm here," he told her until her face cleared.

"Gil."

"Yes, it's Gil. I'm here. What was it?"

"Natalie. The car. The rain," she recited dully.

"The rain," Gil said encouragingly. "You were lying out in the rain before, when I came. Did that remind you?"

"No. No, I was...trying to forget. I don't want to be afraid of the rain. I...she took that away from me, you know? I always loved the rain, before...but now...I was trying to get back to...that...feeling of...wonder."

"Oh," Gil said, relieved that he understood now. "That's good, Sara. That's a good idea. I know...I've forgotten that...childlike wonder, too."

"Yes, it's sad, isn't it? We grow up and we forget. We take the everyday miracles for granted."

"We do. What other miracles?" he asked kindly, his arm holding her warm slender body and the other behind his head.

Sara smiled into his eyes. "That," she gestured. "The sea. The waves. The clouds and the sky. Never the same twice, ever. A single cloud, visible only for a little while, and it will never be, again."

"Yes," Grissom said, looking out. "It is...like that. We forget."

"Sometimes it's good to forget," she said sadly.

"Sometimes. I'd like to help you to forget, Sara," he said deeply.

"You do."

She kissed him, a sad little innocent kiss, and then it was a kiss of love and relief. They sighed and nestled together and there were no more nightmares, at least for a while.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The sun woke him up. He was dazzled for a moment by the unfamiliar brilliant sunlight in his eyes, and then disoriented to be in an strange bed and room. Grissom rubbed his eyes and shook the cobwebs from his head.

_Sara. Sara lying on the sand, in the rain. Sara naked_. In his mind's eye, he pictured that dead naked woman, strangled in her own bed, the one he had left so abruptly behind. Her body and Sara's seemed interchangeable. _No. No. Sara is alive. Where is she?_

"Sara? Sara?"

No answer. He pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt and went looking. It only took seconds to search the tiny house.

"Sara? Where are you?"

His anxiety melted when he caught a glimpse of her outside. She was cross-legged in the sand, facing away. Grissom stepped through the glass door and called her softly.

She didn't answer or look up. Her hands were busy with something and cupping the sand. Grissom stepped closer.

"Hey. Whatcha doing?"

Sara looked up briefly and said in an innocent, childlike voice, "Playing." She immediately went back to arranging and rearranging the little shells and rocks and bits of wood, then pouring sand on them with her hands.

Grissom struggled with his feelings. This was a Sara he'd never seen before. Like a little girl. Painfully, his knees cracking, he knelt beside her and tried to engage her in conversation. She answered only in monosyllables, but looked up eagerly when he suggested breakfast.

"Yes! I'm hungry," Sara announced, then dashed indoors.

Grissom followed and they looked through the cupboards.

"Um, there's cereal," he said, "but the milk is sour. Let's go out."

"Okay!" Sara ran to the bedroom and dressed in moments. Grissom took a little longer. They drove around aimlessly until Gil spotted a pancake house and Sara took his hand to walk inside. They sat at a booth and when the waitress asked if they wanted coffee she made a face.

"Ugh. No. Just apple juice."

_No coffee? Sara loves coffee._ "Sure, I'll have some," he told the waitress, and drank two cups as he watched her. She was fiddling with the tableware and picking up and playing with the salt and pepper shakers and sugar packets and the syrup containers in turn.

They ordered pancakes and when they arrived, Sara took a long time smearing the butter on them and pouring elaborate designs in syrup before taking a bite. She played with her food more than ate it. Grissom tried to be patient, telling himself they had all day if need be. At last they were done and Sara took his hand again on the walk to the car. It wasn't a romantic gesture. She just seemed to need reassurance, maybe even his protection.

Grissom drove all around the small town, familiarizing himself with it and trying to think of ways to help her. Finally they returned to the little house. Sara immediately took off her shoes and socks and ran out to the beach and waded and splashed at the water's edge.

Grissom sat watching her anxiously, puzzled at her state of mind. She settled in and started building a sand castle. Grissom pulled out his cell phone.

"Willows."

"Catherine. It's Gil."

"Gil? Are you all right? How's Sara?"

"She's fine, uh, physically. But..."

"Yes?" Catherine said with concern.

"She...she's not well, Cath," he said, choking up.

Catherine bit back her own tears. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times Gil had wept in all the years she's known him.

"Tell me about her?" she said softly.

Grissom told her about finding her out in the rain, and how strange she had been, but that she'd seemed more lucid after a hot shower and a cup of tea. Then there was the nightmare and the empty bed this morning, and how she had been like a child all day, playing and letting him care for her.

"Where is she now?"

"Making a sand castle."

Catherine sighed and thought deeply.

"She...Sara reminds me of Lindsay. When she was little," Grissom admitted. "The way she would act when we went out to eat, how you'd have to remind her to take a bite, and then another..."

"That doesn't sound like the Sara I know."

"She isn't. I...I don't know what to do, Cath."

"Hey. Hey. Take it easy. Maybe you can't fix her in a day...think about all she's gone through, just in the last year!"

"Yes. Being kidnapped...almost killed...lost...then having to move to swing shift...and that Hannah West case..."

"Exactly. Any one of those could have broken a much weaker person. Sara's strong. She's a survivor. But...she's been burning out for a while now."

"Yes," Grissom said with sadness and guilt. "And I didn't see it. I didn't want to. I was just so happy she was alive..." he choked up again.

"This job gets to all of us. Sooner or later. And Sara...she...always took it to heart. I didn't help either. None of us did. This isn't all your fault, Gil. Be there for her. Do what your heart tells you."

"You're right, Catherine. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Um, Gil?"

"Yes?"

"Is she...on medical leave? Or vacation? And you?"

Grissom sighed and rubbed his face. "Right. I didn't take care of the paperwork before I left. I couldn't face signing the papers saying she'd resigned...until I knew. If you can manage it, try to keep her on the payroll? Until she runs out of leave? I know she has a lot...and it will be direct deposited. As for me...call it a family emergency."

"Will do," Catherine said decisively.

"I...I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"That's all right. This is more important. Until she's better...well, you would only be worried sick about her...we'll manage here. Take care of Sara. Tell her we all love and miss her and wish her well."

"I will. Thank you. I'll call you soon."

"You do that."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Grissom felt better after his conversation with Catherine. _A burden shared is a burden lessened_, he remembered.

"Be there for her. Do what your heart tells you." _Wise advice. Thank you, Catherine._

Grissom walked out to Sara, still busy with her sand castle. She looked up brightly.

"Isn't my castle pretty?"

"It sure is, honey. Well done." Sara smiled at him proudly.

"Are you going to live in it?" Gris asked lightly.

Sara shot him an annoyed look. "It's too _small_. And it's made of _sand_."

Gris kicked himself. "You're right, Sara. Hey, would you like to take a walk?"

"Okay!" She jumped to her feet and took his hand. They strolled up the beach.

"So, what have you been doing, living here?"

Sara shrugged. "Sleeping. Playing. Eating. Thinking."

"Thinking about what?" he said encouragingly.

"All kinds of stuff." Her face clouded and she didn't say anything else.

Grissom steered her back to the house and encouraged her to take a shower. Once again she stripped in front of him and emerged wet and naked. Grissom fought down his body's automatic reaction and busied himself preparing a simple lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and a can of soup.

"I've been thinking about you, Gil. About us," she finally spoke, picking up the thread of their conversation.

Gil, relieved, nodded encouragingly.

"I...I didn't leave you. I can't, you know. I can't ever leave you. You're inside me. I left...the job. I left Vegas."

"I understand. You burned out."

"Yes. I couldn't take it anymore. All that death. All that...blood."

"Sure," Grissom sighed. "You went through so much."

They thought in silence and remembered pain.

"I wish I could have helped you more. I wish I could have been a...better friend to you, honey," he told her sadly.

"I don't think...you could have done anything," she said heavily. "I didn't...I don't know how to heal this. And I'm not used to asking for help."

"You've always been so strong, Sara," he said softly. "But whatever you need, however I can help, you just ask, okay? I'll try. I'll do everything I can. I love you."

"I love you too. It's helping, I think, having you here."

"Good," he breathed, taking her hand. He pulled her up into a long relieved hug.

"I'll always love you, Sara. Don't ever forget that." She nodded against his chest.

"I'm tired. Lie down with me?" Sara asked.

"Of course."

They lay in bed. Sara seemed restless, so Gil recited poetry to her, sonnets about beauty and sleep and peace. She smiled at him gratefully, soothed by his gentle voice, and finally slept.

Grissom held her lightly and stood watch, willing her to get the rest she needed.

There was a light knock on the door. Grissom gently disentangled himself. Sara did not stir.

He opened the door to a small plump Hispanic woman.

"Can I help you?" he said politely.

"I am Mrs. Gonzalez?" she told him. "I rent this place, to Miss Sara?"

"Oh! Please come in. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please."

Grissom put the water on and checked on Sara, very still and deeply asleep. He closed the bedroom door quietly and prepared the tea before the kettle whistled.

"She is asleep?"

"Yes." They spoke softly.

"Good. She needs to sleep," Mrs. Gonzales told him. They nodded in understanding.

"You are...Señor Grissom? The man she loves?"

"Yes. I am." _The man who loves Sara._

"Miss Sara talked a lot about you. Cried, too, when she first came."

Grissom nodded guiltily. "And now?"

"Now? She is like a little girl. Sometimes better, sometimes worse."

"Yes. She's been like that all day, until a few hours ago." He sighed. "Do you...visit her often?"

"Every day, when I can. Every other day. She doesn't eat, so I bring her food. Too skinny." They chuckled. "I talk to her. Let her talk. She is...troubled."

"Yes. She is. I'm glad...you've been...taking care of Sara."

Mrs. Gonzalez shrugged. "She is no trouble. I live...just across the street? Come by later, when she is awake? I fix dinner. I have three boys so I always make a lot of food," she urged, smiling.

"You are very kind. We will be there. Thank you."

Sara wandered in looking rumpled and sleepy.

"Consuela!" The women hugged and murmured to each other.

"Would you like to come to my house, dear? Help me fix dinner?"

"Okay!" Sara went into the bedroom and changed and they walked across the street together.

Three lean youths with long dark hair loitered on the porch. They eyed Grissom and said nothing, though the youngest boy gave Sara a shy smile when she said, "Hello, Carlos."

Sara went inside with familiarity, greeting the family dog, a black and white mutt with a curly tail who was apparently named Pepito. She joined Consuela in the kitchen and they chatted cheerfully and cooked together, a small transistor radio blaring. Grissom tried to help, but Mrs. Gonzalez gave him a bottle of beer and shooed him out of the kitchen, telling him to go sit. He perched awkwardly on an armchair and played with the dog, who was delighted with the attention.

At dinner time, they all sat around a big table and bowed their heads as Consuela said grace. They passed around platters of rice and beans and cheese enchiladas and other dishes Grissom couldn't identify, though it was all good. The boys spoke to each other in low voices and Sara told Consuela about what she'd been doing since Grissom arrived. Grissom ate, grateful for the company, and complimented her sincerely for the fine dinner. He polished off a third bottle of beer as the youths sauntered out, watching Sara and Consuela interact.

At twilight, fireflies twinkling, Sara and Grissom strolled home.

"How are you feeling, Sara?"

"Good."

"Would you like to do something? Go to a movie, maybe?"

"Could we get some ice cream?"

He smiled. "Of course." They walked a few blocks to a Dairy Queen and Sara pointed out the bodega where she got her groceries. She hadn't, apparently, been much place else during her time there, in Gualala.

"How did you end up here, Sara? This town, this house?" he asked as they licked their chocolate cones on a bench outside, the glare of the lights attracting circling bugs and moths.

"When I left," a shadow of guilt crossed her face, "when I left Vegas that night, I took the first flight to California. It landed in San Francisco and I stayed in a cheap motel. The next day I bought a newspaper and saw the ad for a house for rent on the beach in Gualala. I talked to Consuela on the phone, and she told me how to take the bus out here, and I've been here ever since."

"Are you doing okay with money?"

She smiled. "Yes, thanks. I've never spent much and it's pretty cheap to live here."

"Would you like me...to take you anywhere? To help...bury those ghosts?"

She looked troubled. "I thought that was what I was going to do, when I left. I had plans. But–I kind of washed up here instead." She looked up suddenly. "How long are you staying?"

"As long as you need me, honey," Gil told her gently.

"Oh. Okay. Good."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER SIX**

Grissom awoke to a steady rain and a dark grey sky. The other side of the bed was empty again. He found Sara on the small couch, wrapped in a blanket, her knees to her chest, gazing at the rain out the glass door. She didn't respond at first when he greeted her, but gave him a little smile when he sat next to her and hugged her. Sara leaned into him and sighed.

"Have you been awake long, honey?"

"Guess so."

"Sleep okay?"

"No. Not really."

Grissom kissed her on the head and they sat together quietly.

"Hey, let's get some breakfast. What would you like?"

"Whatever."

"Let's see what we can rustle up. Would you like to help me?"

"Okay."

Together they found a canister of oatmeal and a box of raisins and Grissom mostly let her prepare it with a pot of tea. She played with her food and he smiled indulgently.

They moved back to the couch and Gil held her in his arms. Grissom talked as much to himself as to Sara, letting her continue to be in her bubble of innocence.

"We're going to need to get some groceries. And some other stuff too. Make this place a little more livable. Maybe when the rain lets up we can go together. I'll need to make some phone calls later–when Catherine is up and getting ready for work. She said to tell you that they all love and miss you and hope you get well soon."

"I'm not sick."

"No, sorry, that's not what I meant..."

"I'm crazy," Sara said firmly.

Grissom was startled. "No! Don't say that. Honey, you're not crazy. We both know what crazy people are like, right? They hurt other people. Or themselves. And they aren't aware that...they think they are normal and rational and everyone else isn't."

"My brain doesn't work right. And sometimes I do want to hurt myself. Sometimes I wish I was dead."

"Oh, God Sara. Don't _ever _do that. Don't think that. Please? Promise me?"

Sara didn't say anything.

Grissom's fear and worry built. It was hard to keep his voice calm and reassuring but he tried.

"You were given a gift–a new life–a chance to start over. You survived–fought so hard–and won. Why would you give up now?"

Sara just bit her lip and shook her head, frowning.

"So...uh. When you wrote me that letter, you said you were afraid you were going to self- destruct, and I'd be there to see it happen? Is that what...you meant?"

Sara nodded slowly.

"I didn't want to think that. But--please--talk to me! I'm scared..."

Sara looked at him with disbelief. "You don't get scared."

"Of course I do! God! I was terrified when you were kidnapped! How can you even think that??"

"You walk into places where killers are. Alone. No gun. And...you told me...over and over...that I was wrong to care so much...about all those dead people."

Guilt swept over him. "That's not what I meant, Sara. I...I was wrong to say that. I'm sorry. I was trying to protect you...like I protect myself. Trying not to care–so it wouldn't get inside me. Hurt me. Make me feel bad. Make me think that I couldn't fix things, or make anything better."

"But we can't fix that. Bad people will still hurt people and do bad things, no matter what we do."

"You're right. They will. But if we catch them, they won't hurt anyone else. So we're helping other people not get hurt. So that is making a difference, isn't it?"

Sara nodded, thinking. "I...guess so."

Grissom smiled at her reassuringly. "And you _do_ make a difference. You _do_ help good people. Sara, you are the best I've ever seen at what you do. You're one of the best CSIs in the whole country! The world! You are...amazing. So talented, so good, so smart..."

"But I can't be a CSI anymore."

"So?"

"So what good am I."

Grissom sighed deeply. "Oh, honey. You're so much better in so many ways...Listen. I let the job define me. I let my self-worth be defined by how good I was at it. Don't be like me! I wanted to be perfect, or as close as it is possible to be perfect. I thought if I just worked longer and harder I could keep getting better. And so I wanted everyone else to be just as dedicated and over-achieving and as much a workaholic and a perfectionist as I am. So I pushed you--because you have such talent. Such potential. I didn't realize...how damaging that was. I pushed you and expected you to be a robot like me. And you're so much more than that. Maybe I...I even envied you, because you're good at things that I'm not. Better than me."

"Really?"

"Really and truly."

Sara looked at him with such openness. "Like what?"

"Your capacity to love. I still don't know how to love like you do, even though you've been teaching me since the day we met. Your capacity to forgive. To forgive me for being so hard and cold to you, for all those long years. You knew what to do about us when I was too stupid and scared to let us love each other. You're braver than me! Your capacity to understand people. I say 'I don't get people,' because I don't, I can't. I prefer facts and knowledge and answers to trying to figure people out. I get lost and frustrated trying to fathom the depths and mysteries and depravities of the human mind. You still have that curiosity. You still want to know 'why.' I gave up. You can still see beauty and wonder in the world. I only see ugliness. Until I'm reminded, like you did. Your versatility. You can do so much so well, things I can't grasp or even try to do. How much you've overcome in life. It would have broken me, all that you've suffered..."

"But Nick..."

"What about Nick?"

"Nick was kidnapped, like I was. Drugged. Hurt. Carried off in a car. No one knew where he was. He was trapped like I was. He was left to die like I was."

"Yes. He was."

"But he got better. He went back to work. I got worse. And I ran away."

"Yes. You're right. But he had some things you never did."

"What?"

"Nick has a family. One that has loved him all his life and treated him well. His parents immediately came to help in any way they could to rescue him. You have no family, and what family you did have did so much damage and hurt you in such unimaginable ways. Nick has faith. Faith in the goodness of people. He still believes in justice and God and the triumph of good over evil. All of your faith was beaten–literally beaten--out of you at an early age. You always had to fend for yourself. He never did. He's never been alone. You've always been alone. You never had someone love you as completely as I do until just two years ago! You and Nick–you're almost the same age–but he's had...a solid life."

"Yeah."

"That was the worst thing that's ever happened to him. Your kidnapping–it was only the worst thing that's happened to you _recently_."

Sara nodded and smiled sadly. Grissom pulled her to her feet and held her tight, held her until she squeezed him back and let him go.

"I don't want to talk–anymore," she finally said.

"Thank God!" Grissom said loudly.

Sara giggled. "What?"

"You know me. How bad I am at talking like this!" Grissom gave a dramatic sigh.

"You've gotten a lot better," she told him, grinning.

"Thanks, Teach." Sara giggled again.

"Honestly, it would be less painful," Grissom took Sara's hand, "if you reached in," he opened his mouth and put her hand inside, "and pulled out a _tooth._"

Sara laughed heartily and poked around in his mouth with her fingers. Grissom made silly noises and stuck out his tongue. His heart lifted to hear her genuine laugh. _How long has it been? Months?_

"When Sara laughs, the world smiles," he told her, spinning her around.

He tickled her ribs and she laughed until she was out of breath.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

So Sara and Grissom drove to the grocery store. Not a major event for any other couple. Grissom tried to keep things light and get her to laugh and smile again. Sara expressed wonder that there were so many choices again, after weeks of just Mexican food and junk food. Grissom encouraged her to pick anything that she wanted, kidding her by drooling over the meat counter.

He bought them both T-shirts and a radio and matches and candles and light-hearted paperbacks and trashy magazines and bottles of wine and beer and one of Scotch and pampering stuff for the shower–anything he could think of–to cheer up the dreary house. He bought himself a pair of goofy colored swimming trunks and sunglasses and another straw hat, modeling them to her delighted giggles. They came to the small garden center.

Sara picked up every potted plant in turn and smelled the flowers.

"Dirt. Good clean dirt," she said, marveling. "What a difference from cactuses and dry desert sand."

"You always did like vegetation," he reminded her, smiling his crooked smile.

"Yeah. Do you still have that plant?"

"Of course. It's thriving. And my bugs. And Rocky," he added without thinking.

Sara was instantly stricken with guilt. "Rocky! How could I forget about my dog??"

"He's fine. He's at the sitter's. She loves having him, and he has lots of doggie friends there," Grissom reassured her quickly.

After more soothing words she calmed. "Let's get him some toys. For when you go back."

Grissom's heart sank. _She's not coming home with me._ _I'm an idiot._

He said with false bravado, "Toys! Treats too. A big bone. Good idea. Get all the flowers and plants you want now, honey. We'll put them outside in the sun in this fine California weather. You can stick a twig in the ground here and it will be a young tree in months."

"Is that really true?" Sara asked with curiosity.

"Yes. My stepdad used to tell me that. I never tried but I'm sure he was right."

"You got your brains from him."

"Well, my love of learning. And my interest in science, anyway."

"True."

They packed up all their bags and went home, and Sara happily arranged all their new things and lit all the candles all over the house and put the nicest African violets on the kitchen table. He complimented her on her decorating skills and found a radio station with cheerful pop music. She puttered around with the plants on the concrete deck, murmuring to herself. Grissom prepared a big casserole and Sara snapped green beans and cut up fresh fruit for a salad as they chatted about simple things.

After lunch they settled in bed with their new books and read them–and bits to each other--by candles and lamplight. It was refreshing to both to read fiction again instead of forensics journals and textbooks. They dozed off in turn and he kissed her when she woke up, but instantly stopped when she drew away when they became passionate.

"I love making love to you Sara. But I understand if you don't want to...right now."

"I do too, or I did, it's just confusing..."

Grissom let her speak.

"I mean I desire you and then I feel too young, somehow, and then I...don't know. I remember how wonderful and comforting it was to be with you...such pleasure and passion...so sweet. But everything's...swirling around in me. Give me a little time?"

"Sure."

"Kissing is nice."

"It sure is, sweet lips," Grissom told her, getting another giggle and a kiss.

"Cuddling is fun too." Grissom chuckled and snuggled in close. He had to turn away to keep his insistent erection from poking her, and let her spoon up behind him.

When her breathing evened out he gently moved her hand from over his heart and rested it on a pillow. He sighed, looking at her, then took a shower and masturbated, stifling his groans as much as he could. Grissom took all the time he wanted to condition his hair and spread lotion on his body and shave and even splash on a little cologne. He changed into his nicest clothes when he saw she was awake and looking restless.

"Let's go out. There must be something fun to do in this town."

Sara grinned and agreed.

They found a nice bar and had drinks and danced to the jukebox to the enjoyment of them both and the other patrons. Sara grew melancholy as she did more shots with beer chasers. She kept muttering, "Rocky. How could I forget my dog?" Sara asked after all her coworkers. Grissom answered her honestly and recalled everything he could, also reminiscing about the stranger cases they'd worked, as she filled in details and added her own stories.

Sara and Grissom took a stroll around the nicer parts of Galala to stretch their legs and sober up. They drove home slowly, holding hands, and went straight to bed.

Grissom was jerked from deep sleep to loud screams and flailing limbs. When he moved toward Sara she kneed him sharply in the groin. Grissom yelled in pain and instantly curled into a ball, falling to the floor in the process. Sara dashed to the other side of the room and tried to crawl into the closet, still yelling in terror.

When she saw him stretched out on the floor she shrieked like he'd never, ever, heard before.

"Daddy!! No!! Stop, Mommy! Stop it!"

Grissom painfully tried to go to her but it made it worse. She ran from him like a trapped animal.

There was a loud pounding on the door. Grissom opened it to wild-looking Consuela in a nightgown and she ran inside. Sara clung to her and they cried and wailed together in both Spanish and English. Sara still shot him scared looks over Mrs. Gonzales' shoulder so he went back in the bedroom and closed the door and tried to catch his breath and slow his pounding heart.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Grissom was relieved when some time later he heard a light knock on the bedroom door.

"Mr. Grissom? Please come out," Consuela said gently.

He immediately opened the door and looked from her to Sara, curled up on the sofa, silent, her face calmer and tear-streaked, her eyes dull and red-rimmed. He gave them both a reassuring smile and he and Mrs. Gonzales moved to the kitchen table.

"I'm going to have a drink, Señora," Grissom said. "Would you like one as well?"

"Yes, thank you," Consuela said, just as politely.

"Scotch okay?"

"Okay." She smiled a little.

They both got generous glasses of Scotch and sipped them thoughtfully. Grissom had another when his hands stopped trembling.

"Mr. Grissom. I have never seen Miss Sara this bad."

"No, ma'am. Nor have I in the nine years we've known each other."

"Okay. I think it is best that she stay with me the rest of tonight. I think you understand that she is still frightened of you?"

"Yes. I do. I think that is a good idea and I am very grateful you are here to help," Grissom said sincerely.

"Thank you. I am glad you are here to care for her as well. She needs someone who so obviously loves her." They smiled in understanding and glanced at Sara, who seemed oblivious to their conversation about her.

"All right. I will take her now and we will talk more tomorrow," she said, finishing her drink and moving to get up.

Grissom went into the bedroom, got Sara's clothes, and helped dress her. They left.

He sat back down heavily and pondered. _Wow. Christ, that was horrible. She needs a lot more help than I can give her._

Grissom knew that he lacked the background or social skills to help with such a serious situation. He also knew that he had neglected the study of psychology in his education and was unable to help her beyond using his common sense. He and Sara both had a dismissive attitude toward shrinks in general, based on their negative experiences in the past.

He called Catherine.

"Willows."

"Cath? It's Gil."

He explained what had just happened. Catherine was horrified and concerned, naturally, and there was a pause as she processed the information.

"Cath?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember Dr. Philip Kane? The one who helped with the Tammy Felton case?"

"Of course."

"Could you find his number?"

"Sure. I think he is in private practice now. Hang on." He heard the rustle of papers and drawers opening and waited patiently. She came back on the line and told him the number.

"Thanks. I'll get back to you."

"Sure. You know you can call me anytime."

"I do," he said gratefully. "Bye, now."

"Goodbye."

He hung up and called Dr. Kane, not surprised when it went to voice mail, as it _was_ 3 in the morning, and left an urgent message.

Then he called Brass and filled him in too. Jim was instantly very worried about his surrogate daughter and offered to come out immediately and help, but Grissom assured him that he was dealing with it for now and would ask if anything changed or got worse.

"Sure thing, buddy. Anytime."

"Thanks, Jim."

"Oh and Gil?"

"Yeah?"

"Take good care of my girl," he said, his voice breaking.

"You know I will," Gil said with the same emotion. They listened to each other sniffling and then hung up.

He called Nick, apologized for waking him up, and told him in simpler terms what was going on, not wanting Nick to hear distorted versions from the crime lab grapevine. Nick was emotional for his treasured surrogate sister but it was reassuring to hear his understanding about what he and Sara shared. Nick was kind and told him he was doing so much to help her, offering to do anything he could as well.

Grissom felt a little calmer after talking to them all but so many emotions were swirling around inside him–fear, pain, frustration, worry, anger, grief, anxiety, unconditional love–on and on–that it was utterly overwhelming to him. He sipped his second Scotch and tried to sort through it all.

His phone rang.

"Grissom."

"Gil? It's Conrad." _Great. Perfect timing, asshole._

"We have a high profile case and need you at the lab right away..."

"No fucking way," Grissom barked, hearing with satisfaction Ecklie's startled gasp. He continued in a rush, not giving his nemesis a chance to say a word.

"Listen good, you asshole. I am dealing with an emergency and I will not return until it is under control, you understand? I deserve to have this personal time after all the bullshit you have put me and Sara through. This is my time and I don't care if the population of Vegas is cut in half because every single person murders someone else at the same time or a fucking atom bomb goes off. Sara needs me. She is my family. This is a _family emergency_.

She is the best criminalist in the entire lab and since our lab is the best, second only to the Feds, that means she is the best CSI in the country with a solve rate that is second only to my own. How many cases have you solved in your entire career, Ecklie? Less than either one of us has in a single week? I hold you personally responsible for your idiotic insistence that she move to swing shift, which exacerbated her condition since she didn't have me or the rest of the team to help her recover from her kidnapping," Ecklie started to sputter and was completely ignored.

"She nearly died several times that night, get it? No one can be expected to bounce back from that kind of trauma and it sure as hell didn't help that you insisted she return to work as soon as her arm was in a sling and she was out of the hospital. You have humiliated and demeaned and used all your authority and spiteful nature to break her spirit and try to get her fired for seven goddamn years. If she returns to work it will be on our terms and she will never be subjected to that treatment again, or I will hurt in ways you cannot imagine. Understand?"

Ecklie tried to say something.

"Shut the fuck up or it won't be a smashed coffee pot in your hand next time. It will be scalding hot in your stupid face. I don't give a shit about you or your case. I have dedicated my life to 'your' precious lab and gone without everything else. So has Sara. No job will keep you warm at night or love you like Sara loves me or I love her. Now I am not going to tell you anything at all about her condition because it is none of your damn business. And you will never sniff around for dirt on either one of us or use your undeserved authority to damage our reputations again, get it? If you didn't pay me salary and you paid Sara for the work we actually do it would bankrupt the lab. We both have more than enough leave time saved up from our dedicated work and expect to be compensated fully for the extent of our absence." _Go fuck yourself._

Grissom slammed his phone shut and smiled grimly to himself. _Whew! That's a relief. He'll be chewing on that the rest of his life. __I don't care that it was to release my frustration or my worry about Sara or the alcohol or the kick to my nuts talking--that asshole deserved every word._ _And I meant every word. It was all true. Finally. _

He chuckled at himself and called Brass again and repeated the entire conversation–monologue really–getting hearty laughs in return.

"Boy you really tore him a new asshole," Brass told him happily. "That's the funniest thing I've heard in forever!"

Grissom laughed too. "Hell, yeah. Damn it felt good."

"I'm sure! He'll be ducking from you-- hiding--for the next few years! Like a scared little rabbit!"

"Good riddance. He won't be bothering me for expense reports and all that bullshit paperwork for a long time either," Gil said, wiping the tears from his eyes. They exchanged a few more remarks and hung up. Gil realized he felt better than he had since Sara was kidnapped, then instantly felt guilt for thinking of himself and not her.

_God I hope she gets help. Oh Sara._ _My true love. Come back to me. Come back to yourself!_

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER NINE**

Grissom was consumed with nervous energy and his body clock was set to work all night and through the next day. So he did the only thing he could think of. He cleaned. Grissom dug out all the cleaning supplies he could find and scrubbed the house from top to bottom, working methodically from room to room until the sponge fell apart in his hands. He cleaned out the refrigerator and took out all the trash and washed all the windows inside it and out. The place sparkled like a jewel. _At least Sara will have a clean home to come back to. Least I can do._ _And Mrs. Gonzales will appreciate it too. How fortunate for both of us to have such a good woman here, so close by._

Then he washed all their clothes, all the blankets, all the sheets and towels, folded them neatly and put them all away, remade the bed, and hung all the clothes in the closet. _Sara said she was hiding in the closet when she saw her mother stab her father to death. No wonder she 'saw' her father's body when I was on the floor. God, Sara!_

At last he took a long hot shower and gingerly washed his bruises and scrapes, then redressed in clean clothes and made a pot of coffee. He tuned the radio to classical music and sat at the kitchen table and drank it all. Grissom took out his notebook and a good pen and wrote everything down. Anything and everything he could think of, letting himself use a stream of consciousness style and erasing nothing, at times straying into his dry, professional style of writing up crime reports and journal articles. He wrote until his hand cramped up, then swallowed aspirin and wrote some more, eating a muffin to keep his stomach settled.

At the dot of eight the phone rang.

"Grissom."

"Dr. Grissom? Philip Kane here." Grissom was very relieved to hear his deep warm voice.

"Yes! Good to hear from you."

"Likewise," Philip rumbled.

"I need your help, Philip."

"Of course. Go ahead."

So Grissom spoke. He talked for over an hour, letting go, and when the conversation began to move off in a tangent, Philip gently redirected it by asking leading questions. He did not interrupt and made no comment until Grissom wound down.

"Right. This is a very severe case, as I'm sure you are aware," the good doctor said.

"Yes."

"You understand I cannot make a definitive diagnosis unless I meet with Ms. Sidle..."

"Of course. Your professional opinion is all that I expect," Grissom responded.

"Good. This is most certainly Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There are associated pathologies but I think we need to tackle that one first. I've only encountered similar cases in soldiers returning from battle from Afghanistan and Iraq. And none of those regressed to a childlike state like Sara has. It seems to me that the latest trauma she suffered has forced her to retreat from adulthood to a simpler time when she felt safe, and even then, those times were fraught with trauma. So she fled to the few memories she has of a normal childhood, namely the beaches of California."

"That makes sense," Grissom said.

"Her survival skills are very well developed and that gives us hope. Sara made a good–though shocking to you--decision, by leaving Las Vegas and going back to her earliest home. Also she is aware of herself...and that she was lucid enough to contact you for help..."

"And she even provided the GPS coordinates so I could find her..." Grissom supplied proudly.

Philip chuckled with warmth. "Yes. She is an excellent scientist. Rational, intelligent, well educated...all in our favor. She will most likely be able to understand her diagnoses better than a layman; how and what she needs to do to recover, and recognize that professional help is her only option."

"Yes. I agree," Grissom said hopefully.

"Now we have several options." Gil listened carefully.

"Given that she has mentioned suicidal thoughts–the most extreme would be institutionalization."

"Absolutely not," Gil said firmly.

"Why?"

He told Philip about the attack by the criminally insane Adam Trent, his shard held to her throat, locked in the nurses' station as he watched helplessly.

"My goodness. Ms. Sidle has been through so much," Dr. Kane said, aghast.

"She has," Grissom said sadly.

"That she is not only able to fully function as an adult, but excel in her field...such a difficult and stressful field as well...I am astounded...and deeply impressed," Philip mused. "I'm sorry I only met with her in a professional capacity a few times, and that I only know of her ordeal in the desert from secondary sources, but...she has a remarkable resilience. Remarkable."

Dr. Kane took a deep breath and continued. "Very well. The second option is for you both to return here and meet with me."

"Um. No offense, doctor, but I don't think Sara is ready to return to Vegas."

"None taken," Dr. Kane chuckled.. "You are right, it is probably too soon for her to return here, to the scene of the crime, so to speak."

Grissom chuckled ruefully.

"All right, the next option is as an outpatient in a facility that is qualified to deal with PTSD."

"That sound more reasonable."

"Good. What is the closest city to you?"

"San Francisco. It's not far, and there is public transportation."

"Very good. That's fortunate! Let me do some research and come up with some names. In the meantime...I'd like to send you some literature. Do you have access to a computer?"

"No. Not at the moment. But...I...I'm sure there is a public library? And you could send me everything there...and I could print it out."

"Excellent idea. I'll give you my email address now and you write me when you are set up, all right?"

"Yes. Yes, go ahead, doctor." Grissom wrote it down and thanked Dr. Kane profusely and they disconnected with a warm exchange of mutual respect.

Feeling a renewed sense of hope and purpose, Grissom dug out a Yellow Pages, called the library for directions, and was online with Dr. Kane within the hour. Sheets of paper fed out of the printer and he skimmed them briefly as they did, knowing he would absorb every word later.

Grissom browsed through the limited selection of psychology books, but could only apply for a library card, not check anything out yet, so he gave all the contact information to the librarian and determined to return as often as he could. He fed all his change into the Xerox machine, copied a few chapters, and insisted on paying for all the printer paper he'd used as well, thus earning a friend in the librarian with his innate charm and thoughtfulness.

Gil introduced himself as a visiting researcher to the reference librarian and she offered to delve into the subject and provide him with more material. He gave her his phone number and unconsciously made her blush with his simple compliments and words of appreciation. The librarians exchanged an understanding look and raised eyebrows when he was gone, smiling.

With a thick stack of paper under his arm, he returned to the house on the beach. Gil paused, looked over at the Gonzales home carefully, noting the empty porch, the lack of sound or activity, and the darkened windows, wondering whether to knock on the door yet.

_Give them time. I'll let them approach me, when they are ready, _he decided.

Making sure that his front windows were well lit, and the radio playing softly, as a signal that he was home, Gil thought of one more thing. He took the biggest and most colorful flowering plant, wrote and attached a note, and set it neatly on the Gonzales front porch. Then Grissom moved a welcoming pair of potted begonias to his front stoop and settled in to work.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TEN**

Within minutes, Grissom was absorbed in his studies. Several terms jumped out at him at once.

**regression** The return to earlier or younger behavior and thinking. Trauma often overwhelms everyday defenses and brings about behavioral regression. Child personality states are an example of trauma-based regression. In "**age regression**," a person experiences him or herself at a specific earlier age. The person does not always return to the age of a child, however; age regression may take a client back a few years earlier in adult life.

_Dr. Kane was right._

**posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD)** An anxiety disorder based on how an individual responds to a traumatic event. According to DSM-IV, the following criteria must be met:

• The person has experienced a traumatic event that involved actual or threatened death or serious injury, or a threat to the physical integrity of self or others, and the person's response involved intense fear, helplessness, or horror

• The traumatic event is re-experienced in specific ways such as recurrent and intrusive distressing recollections or dreams of the event

• Persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma or numbing of general responsiveness

• Persistent symptoms of increased arousal, such as hypervigilance or irritability

• Duration of the disturbance (symptoms in Criteria B, C, and D) is more than one month

• The disturbance causes clinically significant distress or impairment in functioning.

**PTSD** may be acute, chronic, or with delayed onset. Many individuals with **DID (MPD)** also have **PTSD**. The literature sometimes describes** DID (MPD**) as complex and/or chronic **PTSD**. Adapted from DSM-IV, p. 427-429.

_Sara meets all the criteria, and then some. A month? Try a lifetime...What's DID?_

• **dissociative identity disorder (DID)** One of the dissociative disorders in DSM- IV. There are four diagnostic criteria:

• The presence of two or more distinct identities or personality states

• At least two of these identities or personality states recurrently take control of the person's behavior

• Inability to recall important personal information that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfulness

• The disturbance is not due to the direct physiological effects of a substance or a general medical condition.

DID is the current name for multiple personality disorder (MPD), first used in DSM-IV. In addition to the name change, the criteria were increased by two items, items C and D.

_Oh, dear God...Sara does remember who she is...and me, and the rest of the team...even when she was like a child...didn't she?_ Grissom struggled to remember. He kept reading.

In general, individuals with **MPD** have a background of child abuse or other forms of severe childhood trauma. **Dissociative identity disorder** (**DID**) is the current name for this disorder in DSM-IV. Adapted from DSM-III- R, p. 272.

_Oh, help. Multiple personalities? I think...I hope she is not that far gone!_

**dissociative disorders** A group of psychiatric conditions with the disruption in the integrated functions of consciousness, memory, identity, or perception of the environment.** DID (MPD)** is one disorder in this category. See also** dissociative fugue, dissociative identity disorder, dissociative amnesia, dissociative disorders **not otherwise specified. Adapted from DSM-IV, p. 477.

**dissociative fugue** One of the **dissociative disorder**s described in DSM-IV. The diagnostic criteria are:

• Sudden, unexpected travel from home or work, with the inability to recall some or all of one's past

• Confusion about personal identity or assumption of a new identity

• The disturbance does not occur exclusively during the course of **DID** and is not due to the effects of a substance or general medical condition

• The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in functioning.

• The onset of **dissociative fugue** is usually related to traumatic, stressful, or overwhelming life events. Adapted from DSM- IV, pp. 481-483.

_Sudden, unexpected travel from home_ and_ work. Check._

_Confusion about personal identity? I don't think so. She hasn't..._

_Clinically significant distress or impairment in functioning. Yes._

_Traumatic, stressful, or overwhelming life events. Yes, yes, and yes._

_Fugue state. I've heard of that. Wasn't there a novel...by Dean Koontz...about that?_

"Okay," Grissom muttered aloud anxiously. "Dr. Kane mentioned 'associated pathologies.' Perhaps he was thinking of this, but...I haven't seen any sign of a split personality or amnesia...of course I don't know what Sara can or cannot remember..."

_Sometimes it's good to forget. _ Sara's sorrowful words echoed in Grissom's head.

He stood up and paced up and down the small room, thinking hard.

_Dr. Kane said we should tackle PTSD first. Don't get ahead of yourself. Don't assume the worst. Don't 'assume' at all._

"Relax. One step at a time. You're not qualified...based on one morning's reading!" he told himself harshly.

He sat back down and looked at the papers again. _DSM-IV._ _What's that? Diagnostic S-something Manual, 4__th__ edition, maybe. Dr. Kane would know._

He dialed Kane's number, but the receptionist told him the doctor was with a client. Grissom left his number and a brief message.

"Okay. I can find out from the librarian. Maybe they even have a copy, probably in the reference section. Let's go back to PTSD and age regression," Grissom instructed himself.

Before he read another word, there was a timid knock on the door. Grissom opened it to Mrs. Gonzalez and Sara, who was standing away, looking at the ground.

"Mr. Grissom," Consuela said, smiling.

"Mrs. Gonzalez, Sara, please come in. Make yourselves at home. I'll put on some tea."

Consuela came in, but Sara hesitated. Grissom instantly went to her.

"Sara, honey?" he said gently, trying to meet her eyes.

"Sara?" No answer, so he reached for her hand, relieved when hers closed around his.

"I...I'm sorry, Gil," she said in a small voice.

"Sorry? For what? You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

"I...I hurt you," Sara said timidly, gesturing at his crotch.

Grissom laughed in relief. "Oh! I'll live! Do you know how many times I've been kicked in the balls? Fifty years worth...You...if anyone deserves to have a shot at me...you do!"

Sara's face cleared and she giggled at him and finally met his eyes.

"Come in here. You don't know how glad I am to see you." Grissom moved his hand to the small of her back and guided Sara inside.

Both women stopped and stared in awe about the room.

"Mr. Grissom," Consuela said, marveling. "You cleaned! It is beautiful! I am...so..."

"Is this the same place?" Sara asked lightly.

Grissom smiled at them both. "Yes! Just a little...spruced up. Sara's responsible for the decorating," he added with pride.

"A little spruced up?" Consuela teased, "You're hired!"

They all chuckled and Grissom moved to put the teakettle on.

"Thank you for the flowers as well," Consuela told him.

"Sara picked them out," Gil said simply.

"Thank you-- for the note," Sara said quietly.

Gil stepped to her and took her hands, looking in her eyes. Mrs. Gonzalez tactfully moved to the back stoop and became very interested in all the flowers and potted plants there.

"You're welcome, Sara."

"It was very...sweet."

"Ah, good. I couldn't say everything I wanted to--I never can--but I do love you, honey, so much."

"I love you too, Gil."

"Kiss me?"

"Always." Sara leaned in and they kissed gently. He put his arms around her and kissed her again and she held onto him.

He murmured into her hair. "I missed you. Not just last night, but...whenever we spend a night apart..."

"Me too," she said into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth and loving energy, and drawing strength from it all.

The teakettle whistled and they broke apart, smiling at each other. Consuela came back in and Grissom piled up all his papers to make room on the kitchen table. Sara glanced at them curiously, then found her unspoken question answered in his eyes.

They all had a hot strengthening cup of tea. Sara blew across the top of her mug.

"Sara, I, uh...I want to help you," he said hesitantly. Both women nodded.

"I've been reading, but I'm not...I want to help you get the help you need. It's more...it's beyond what I can do."

"Yes," Sara said. "I know I need help."

Gil breathed a big sigh of relief. "Yes, honey. And you're going to get the best help we can find. I'll be with you. Every step."

"Good," she breathed.

"Good," Gil echoed, smiling into her eyes.

**TBC**

**A/N**: The above references were taken from the APA's PTSD Glossary © the Sidran Institute, 1995-2009. Their motto is: "We help people understand, recover from, and treat trauma and dissociation." Easily found on Google. Hope you find this as valuable as I do.

By the way, those GPS coordinates? They would have taken Grissom to southern China. Oops.

To jayjay: What a wonderful review. I love it when people say they enjoy all my stories! Thanks! And thanks to My Kate for her story suggestions and interesting comments. Very helpful.


	11. Chapter 11

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"I was just going to warm up the casserole from last night," Grissom said. "Are you two hungry?"

Sara shook her head.

"No, thank you," Mrs. Gonzales said. "We just had lunch."

"Okay." Grissom got the casserole and put it in the oven for himself.

"Mr. Grissom?"

"Yes?"

Consuela continued slowly. "I know you are a kind man. And you have shown nothing but love for Sara. But..."

They both looked at her.

Sara spoke first, sensing her concern. "You are worried? That I will have another nightmare?"

"Yes," she said gratefully.

"Gil and I–we've gone through lots of nightmares, haven't we, hon?"

He nodded vigorously and murmured, "Both awake and asleep."

Sara glanced at him and agreed silently, her eyes grave. "Last night's was the worst I've–we've--ever had," she said.

"Yes. It sure was," Grissom said seriously.

"And I think that we have to face up to them, now, together...Like we've faced up to so much else."

Grissom smiled at her affectionately. "Sara is the strongest woman I've ever met," he told them both. "And the bravest. And I trust her judgement in so many ways–every way, really.

So..."

"I am grateful–so much--for everything you've done for me," Sara added. "We both are. But Gil and I–we can take anything life throws at us. He's my rock. We trust each other."

"Good." Consuela said. "I'm glad. If you need anything else–"

"We know you will do your best to help us," Grissom told her with a smile. "Hey. Take this–to have with your dinner." He reached into the fridge and offered her a six-pack of beer.

"Okay," Consuela laughed. "My favorite brand too! Thanks. Be well, my dear," she patted Sara's hand and got up to go. "_Adios_."

"_Adios_," they echoed, and Consuela, smiling with friendliness, took the beer and left.

"Okay," Sara said, sitting back down at the table. "What do we know?"

Grissom grinned at her deliberate use of the phrase they both so commonly used to puzzle out a case together. He took the papers and spread them out.

"This...is the one I think you will find most interesting," he told her, pointing out the 'regression' paragraph in the PTSD Glossary.

Sara read and reread it carefully. "At least it has a name," she said quietly.

"Yes. That's a huge step. It was a relief for me, to have something to go on."

"And I'm not just imagining it."

"You're not. I have no doubt of that," Grissom told her firmly.

"I knew I had--have--Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They've been telling me that for years. But this--God--this explains so much!" she exclaimed. "Have you found anything else about it?"

"Not yet. I spent the morning in the library and only just started when you came. It was Dr. Kane who put me on the right track. Do you remember him?"

"Consultant to the crime lab a few years ago? Dr. Philip Kane?"

"One and the same."

"Good man."

"He is."

They sat reading together, occasionally pushing a page to another or pointing out a particular paragraph. They did not need to speak, for the most part, both having such brilliant minds, ability to absorb and retain any kind of information, and mental kinship.

Sara found a nugget and read it:

**PTSD** is a physical and psychological disorder that is nearly always associated with a history of trauma and painful memories, conscious or unconscious, of the experience. Except in unusual circumstances, such as the rare war veteran seeking to gain an inappropriate legal or financial advantage, **PTSD** is not and usually cannot be faked.

Sara repeated the paragraph to Grissom aloud, emphasizing the last sentence. "PTSD is not and usually cannot be faked."

"See?" he said.

They smiled at each other.

Together, in companionable silence, they delved further into the material.

Frustratingly, so much of the literature delved into false memory and hypnosis, and the case studies of patients "remembering" abuse that had never actually occurred. Sara exclaimed in surprise when she read that even the famous Sybil and her multiple personalities had been disproved, and Grissom was surprised at that as well. The concept of PTSD causing age regression became lost in the verbiage. Gradually they could extract some helpful information, stuff that had not been discredited, but it was slow going. Grissom scribbled some notes as they progressed.

His phone rang.

"Grissom."

"Philip here. Did you get a chance to look over the literature?"

"I did--in fact Sara and I are reading it over right now." Sara looked up and mouthed _Kane? _and Grissom nodded to her.

"And how is she today?"

"Better. Would you like to talk to her?"

"Sure." Grissom handed her the phone and tried to interpret from their lengthy conversation what he–they--needed to know. She described her symptoms and how they had fit in so well with the age regression diagnosis and acute PTSD, and more about her experiences since she fled Las Vegas.

Then Grissom heard her hesitantly bring up the subject of multiple personalities. There were a long sequence of 'no' and 'yes' answers on her end. He listened carefully and smiled back at her when they came to a conclusion.

"Yes, thank you, Doctor. That sounds..." she grabbed a pen and wrote something down. "Good. I will. Sounds good. Would you like to speak to Grissom again?"

She handed him the phone and he took it eagerly.

"So I gather that DID is not the case?" Grissom demanded.

Kane chuckled over the phone. "Yes. Usual caveats of course. As far as I can tell, Sara remembers all that she needs to. Quite a remarkable memory in fact. She's aware of herself, even when she was in a regressive state, and said she never 'forgot' who she is and never felt the presence of another intrusive or controlling personality."

"Whew," Gil sighed in relief.

"Agreed. So. I gave her the address and contact information of a facility in San Francisco that has a good reputation. Mostly war veterans, you understand, but they deal with this condition all the time."

"Great. Thanks."

"I only wish I could travel out to meet with you both. But I have some challenging patients here, one who is suicidal..."

"I understand. We can take the next step. Oh and Philip?"

"What's the DSM-IV?"

"Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th edition."

Grissom wrote it down and concluded the conversation.

"Time for lunch," he said, getting up and fetching a plate. "Care for some?"

"No...I will have some yogurt though," Sara said, getting up too and going to the counter. "Want some coffee?"

"Coffee?" Grissom repeated eagerly. "You want coffee?"

"Yes, Gilbert. Coffee. Why?"

"You–didn't want any--before...at the pancake house!"

"Oh." Sara considered. "Yeah. Huh. For now at least...I guess I'm a grownup again!"

"Yes!" Gil grabbed her and hugged her, both of them chuckling happily.

"Welcome back, Sara!" he yelled.

**TBC**

**A/N: **The above reference is from _Memory and Abuse: remembering and healing the effects of trauma,_ by Charles Whitfield.

Bear with me on all the technical stuff–it is all relevant, and interesting–at least to me. I am no psychiatrist or psychologist but I do think Sara must have had some help of this kind, to heal and return.


	12. Chapter 12

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

After their lunch and happy cups of coffee, Sara called the mental health center and made an appointment for her preliminary exam in two days, at 7 AM. After that was taken care of, both Grissom and Sara were physically and emotionally spent. Sara invited him to take a walk along the beach but Gris said he needed to lie down for awhile. Really, he needed to be alone and think.

"I'm tired, from all that cleaning," he told her, which was partially true.

"Sure. You've done...and been through...a lot. Go get some rest."

"Take your cell phone along on your walk?" Grissom requested.

"Arrgh. Okay, dad," Sara answered sarcastically. _Don't treat me like I'm...oh wait I was like a child, and who knows if I will or when I might revert..._

"Sorry. You're right. I'll bring my phone," she told him, and walked out, leaving both of them feeling a little uneasy.

Grissom stripped down to his briefs and lay down on the bed. He kept his phone close by, making sure it was on and the battery wasn't low. He watched Sara walk up the beach through the big picture window, then fell into deep contemplation. There was so much to think about. As soon as she was out of sight he thought of a million things he wanted to ask her, but was too worn out to do anything.

_Too tired to sleep. Too confused to rest._

Grissom's bones and joints were aching. Not only from all the bending and stooping and wiping and cleaning, though that was a big part of it, but the humid seaside air and rainy weather aggravated his arthritis and especially the aches in his knees and shoulders and neck. He'd grown used to dry heat and forgotten how bad it was. And there was a nagging headache that threatened to become a full-fledged migraine.

_Too much pain to relax._

So he just lay there, worrying, and shifting restlessly to try to find some relief. In that frustrating half-sleep that brings no yearned-for rest, his thoughts circled like vultures. Around and around. No clear answers. The developments of the day were encouraging, briefly at least, but the road ahead looked difficult and rocky and very lengthy.

The phone rang.

"Gil? It's Catherine. Listen, I hate to bother you..."

"Go ahead," Grissom said with resignation.

"It's...it's Warrick. He's not doing too well."

"What do you mean?" Grissom demanded.

"He's going through a nasty divorce. I don't know all the details–he's not talking to anyone–but I gather Tina was cheating on him. It's getting to him at work," Catherine explained.

"Like what?"

"Showing up late, leaving early, distracted...Nick said he's been taking prescriptions for both sleeping and staying up, and it's wearing him ragged."

"What do you want me to do about it, Catherine?" Grissom said testily.

"I...shit. I'm sorry..."

"That's okay," he said heavily. "Sara's doing better today, but I can't just leave now. I promised her to see her through this."

"Of course You're right. I don't know what I expected...maybe I just needed to vent."

"Sure. I get it. I'll be back when I can...Maybe once I get Sara through her first couple of appointments or something..."

"Sorry," Catherine told him again.

"Don't be. How's the work going, anyway?"

Catherine filled him in, going on and on until he couldn't really follow. Abruptly, he told her they'd talk later, he needed rest, and hung up.

Now he had more troubles to think about. Sara, first and foremost. Regretting being rude to Catherine, though he knew she'd get over it, but there were the lab problems and all the cases, new and ongoing, that had been pushed back in his mind. His dedication to his life's work could not be ignored or forgotten for long.

And now Warrick.

Grissom had complex feelings about Warrick Brown. Always had. He had welcomed him to the team, recognizing his talent and potential right away. He had known him the longest, other than Catherine, of all the graveyard shift. Gris proudly watched him blossom into the job, then was dismayed to see Warrick shrink when his gambling addiction nearly destroyed him and his career. He gave him chance after chance, bringing in Sara to avoid having to confront him head on, but still...he could never quite get over the Gribbs case and other missteps. Warrick's casual, almost offhand manner of tackling the work made him distrustful, though it kind of balanced Sara's over-emotional investment in her cases. And he knew it was just his style. Warrick was a very talented and dedicated CSI.

Most of all, Warrick was like a son to him. A kind of prodigal son, that returned again and again to the fold and expected and received forgiveness.

The ceaseless competitiveness with Nick was irritating too. He knew that Warrick resented that Nick and Catherine had moved up the ladder while he stayed the same. So did Sara. Warrick also was bitter because Nick was younger and newer than him and had leap-frogged over him. Sara and Warrick had been pushed together and become better friends because of this unspoken resentment, but it was still there, an underlying tension.

Gris told Warrick he was his rock when he left for sabbatical, but that was more in a past tense. The only time he had given him the responsibility of being in charge–when both he and Catherine were out of town–there had been a lot of friction. Nick had challenged Warrick, toe to toe. Sara didn't like authority, especially if it was overbearing, and had been sarcastic. She had always been very independent and despised close supervision. And she always would be like that, Grissom recognized. Warrick had been too abrupt, too demanding, probably because he was nervous and covering it up, and both Nick and Sara were not pleased. Nick, as usual, was the peacemaker, but it didn't really help. So Grissom couldn't, in good conscience, promote him. He just wasn't a natural leader. He could fake or bluff his way through it, but the team would inevitably lose its cohesion. Catherine had the skills, more than any of them, and took charge naturally. He knew she would take over for him someday.

Nicky was a team player, both when he was an athlete and as a grown man. He could almost always make it work. He could at times work with more creativity, solo, too, Grissom mused. He thought about the cold case that Nick had solved, without any help or advice, before Ecklie split up the team. He thought about how good Nick was with people, with witnesses and kids and victim's families, and how empathetic and kind he was. Sara was too. Warrick always had buried anger, and could be dismissive or would lash out when provoked or over-stressed. But he was outstanding with interviewing children. They all had their strengths. They all had their weaknesses and triggers.

Sara was the best criminalist. She was the best mentor too, and had brought Greg up and out of the lab almost single-handedly. Greg had the makings of a great CSI too, but would always be low man on the totem pole because of his goofy behavior and eccentric, dorky ways as a lab tech. Sara worked well, exceptionally well, with everyone else, and only very rarely let her emotions, powerful as they were, overrule the job at hand. Her exceptional mind and logic and ability to connect the dots and get the conviction were matched only by his own. Sara had the ability to surprise him, on an almost daily basis, when all the others remained pretty much true to their natures.

Why she was passed over for that infamous promotion was complicated. _Everything is–was--complicated when it comes to Sara_, he thought to himself, not for the first time. Mostly, Nick was the safer choice. The sexual tension with himself and Sara, the attraction between them, Grissom's desire to ignore it and show her no favoritism, only made it all worse. She was rightfully insulted when she was put down over minor errors and judged much more harshly than anyone else. All, even a fraction, that Catherine got away with? Sara would have been fired for, immediately, no question about it. Yet Catherine went blithely along, exploiting her close relationship with both Grissom and Ecklie and acting recklessly and stubbornly even when her actions were not only detrimental to the lab and its reputation and but to him, personally.

Sara's neediness combined with her fierce independence, her desire–still–seven years later–to fit in and prove herself and be the best in the lab, both exacerbated and improved her skills as a team player. Sara was best one on one. It wasn't about ambition, per se, but more about personal recognition from Grissom and wanting to be his star pupil, always. Grissom had rejected all of that, all that she asked for and wanted, and made her feel that she was-- insignificant. A servant. He expected her to be constantly available, night and day. Sara had so consistently worked so long, so hard, so brilliantly, without sleep, without food, without going home, that everyone, especially Grissom, took her for granted. They walked all over her and just expected her to pick herself up and go on without complaint.

So her morale sank. Her depression deepened. She turned to alcohol to help but it only made everything worse. Her loneliness got unbearable. Her self-esteem, her spark, her enthusiasm, even her easy laugh, were almost non-existent that last year, the last two years, other than the times they were alone together. And that secret relationship, unable to be shared or celebrated, isolated her further from everyone except Grissom. She depended on him so much and he was so fickle and oblivious and self-absorbed he didn't see it. Grissom's job always came first and Sara came second. Grissom kicked himself again and resolved to do better, to be better, for her, but he knew deep down he would fail her again, someday, somehow. The habits of a workaholic bachelor, his ways of thinking and behaving and reacting and feeling, were as tightly bound to him as a barnacle clings to a rock.

Beaten down and in pain, Grissom struggled to his feet, swallowed his migraine medicine and some Tylenol and took a hot shower, hot as he could stand it, with the water full force on his weary body. He redressed and got himself the rest of the Scotch and turned on the TV, needing its mindless chatter and distracting images and to feel reconnected to the outside world. He was staring at it but not seeing it when Sara returned. She seemed refreshed and in good spirits, but her face twisted with concern when she saw him.

Sara saw his facial expression and body language and settled in close.

"What's wrong, Gil?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Ohh, I know what 'I'm fine' means. C'mon. Tell me."

Grissom rubbed his face and sat forward, hands between his knees.

"Huh. Where to start? OK. Catherine called."

"And?"

"Warrick's in trouble." Grissom told her everything Cath had said, which wasn't much. He said he felt guilty because he couldn't help him, or any of them. Grissom told Sara about the case load, how over-stretched the team was, and briefly about the unsolved crimes too. Sara nodded and told him she knew how important this all was to him.

Grissom gave her a hesitant smile.

"Hey. I get it. I'm a responsibility on top of a responsibility on top of everything else you deal with," she said sadly.

"No, honey," Grissom assured her. "You're my love, my lover. You come first, now. Before–I didn't do that. I took advantage of you."

"I let you," she offered.

"Yeah. But that doesn't make it right."

"I hope–I think–once I get on this road to getting help, I won't need you 24 hours a day."

"Maybe, maybe not, but I do want to be here for you."

"I know, and I appreciate it, so much. But I can't expect...you to babysit me for the rest of my life."

Grissom chuckled. "Even if I_ want_ to baby you?" he teased.

"Well, sometimes," she said, smiling. "You know I love that. Hey. One day at a time, okay? Let me help you for a change. We'll both feel better."

"Okay," Grissom said softly.

"Are you in pain–your arthritis? Do you have a headache? A migraine?"

"Yes, but I just took my medicine–"

"Come on," Sara tugged him to the bedroom and made shed his pants and shirt and lie down.

"I'll take care of you." She closed the blinds and door carefully and put out the lights except for one candle. Then she fetched a cool washcloth and told him to roll over, and she put it on the back of his neck. Gently, and then with more force as his muscles loosened, she gave him a deep massage, grinning at his muffled groans of relief.

"I've missed this," she told him gently. "I've missed touching you. Feeling your warm skin..." Sara continued, speaking in a low soothing voice, nearly hypnotic, until his breathing finally slowed and deepened and the medicine kicked in and she heard his soft snores.

She smiled and kissed him between the shoulder blades and got the blanket and snuggled in next to him under it.

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Smut alert!

When Gris woke up he realized the pain was gone and the relief filled his heart. He rolled over and saw Sara was awake and looking at him with pure love and sweet warmth. He felt overwhelming gratitude, not just for her needed comfort when he was tired and in pain, but more for her simple presence, that she was here in bed with him, again and at last. That his body and heart were warmed and comforted and responding to her. That his mind was clear and reality was good again.

She was his Sara again. He just knew it.

He kissed her. She didn't pull away. She didn't hesitate. Sara kissed him back with all the passion she had always felt for him and he for her. Both were ready and willing. They slipped easily and without doubts or uncertainty or words into the act that joined them, body and soul, for two good years. Their bodies responded to each other in ways both familiar and new. Gil used his restraint and love and skill to bring her to bliss repeatedly and the release was profound to both. When it was over they were soaked in sweat and sore in all the right places and happy and fulfilled.

Gil and Sara both knew that together they had climbed and surmounted a difficult mountain; had defeated the first terrifying dragon that drove them apart. They also recognized that there were many more such obstacles and dangers to face up to with steadfast resolve and courage. But today, now, this good day, they could push all those troubling thoughts behind and just be, together and in love.

Sara rolled him on his back and kissed him deeply and gratefully and lovingly until both gasped for air and chuckled into each other's eyes.

"Good morning," Sara said when they were still catching their breath.

"It sure is."

"I love you, honeybear."

"And I you."

Sara settled into the comforting hollow of his shoulder.

"What shall we do today?" she asked dreamily.

"Make love again," Grissom told her, instantly rolling her over and doing just that. This was urgent and wild and deep and primal. They let all their inhibitions go and grunted and screamed the obscenities and their needs and primitive desires. Bodies twisting and thrashing and thrusting. Biting and scratching and pulling at each other. Competing to bring the other off explosively. Fucking each other's brains out. A sexual marathon.

When they were spent and the angry desire satisfied, they lay apart, quivering from the aftershocks. Grissom felt like a tiger and told her so. She chuckled deeply.

"You're my tiger. My mate. My soulmate."

"And you are mine and more."

"It feels...like that Sunday again," she told him wonderingly, molding herself to his body.

"Our first time? Yeah?"

"Yeah. Even though...it's different too. We're both different now."

"We are. Better. Better as a couple," Gil mused.

"We know each other. Good and bad. Yet...it's new too."

"It is."

They thought in easy silence.

Sara's stomach rumbled and he teased her and she giggled and they prepared a hot breakfast, happily nude and delighted in the uninterrupted freedom. Gil goosed her when she bent over to get the muffins from the oven and she squealed and chased him around the room. When Sara caught him it was by his cock and she playfully started to twist it until he pinched her breasts.

Gil picked her up and put her on the counter and licked her pussy like a dog licks his balls until she dragged him up by the hair. As soon as he sat down with his first cup of coffee, Sara ducked under the table and sucked his cock and felt his moans in her mouth. Groaning, told her he wasn't a kid anymore and his balls needed time to recover.

"Hey," Sara said, wiping the last of the honey, the smears he hadn't kissed and licked from her mouth. "Let's go swimming."

"Okay!" Grissom said, wanting this euphoria to go on and on. He bounded into the bedroom and returned wearing his new trunks and hat and sunglasses, puffing out his chest, and she giggled at him.

"Where's your bathing suit? That hot little red bikini?" Grissom asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Don't have it," she said. "I'll have to go in my birthday suit."

"_Really_?"

"Yup." Sara dragged him willingly by the hand and then, her breasts bouncing in the sun, ran into the water.

Grissom glanced around, grateful that no one was on the beach and wondering about all the neighbors. _Ah, fuck it. The human body is a beautiful thing. _He dove in and swam out to her and they laughed and played like sea otters.

When he started to wade toward the beach she came up behind, humming the "Jaws" theme, and pulled down his swimming trunks with her teeth, laughing. He squeaked in surprise and shed them and tossed them to the sand and pursued her, making playful threats of what he was going to do to her when he caught up.

Moving like a dolphin through the waves, Sara easily left him behind and he stopped and dog paddled, shouting over the surf. Knowing it was hopeless to catch her with her long arms and legs, made for easy strong swimming strokes, he flipped to his back and floated in all his naked splendor.

Sara laughed at the sight and approached, then dove under and tried to bite his ass and legs, but the saltwater got in her mouth as she couldn't stop laughing. Gil snorted and pulled her head and arms across his body and they floated together, lazily kicking.

The playfulness subsided and they got hot and passionate again, floating like upright buoys and kissing like crazy. When Gil lay back and floated again his penis stuck up proudly like a mast and Sara teased him and threatened to tie a sail and ropes to it and sail to China.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"We may _have _to sail to China, dear," Grissom said, grinning. "Look!"

Sara finally looked back to shore. It was a distant pale brown line, and her small beach house indistinguishable from all the other bungalows and cabins and houses all along it.

They laughed at each other, unafraid, as both were born near saltwater and could float and swim before they could walk. Grissom had the broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs and deep chest of a long distance swimmer; Sara the tight lean body, smooth-muscled power, near-zero body fat, and easy speed of a sprinter and diver and surfer.

Knowing the ocean, the tides, the currents, they began to swim at right angles to the undertow that had brought them, along with their antics and sex play, so far out to sea. Stroke for stroke, kick for kick, they swam along. Sara and Gris turned their faces to each other with each breath, delighting each time in the sight of their partner's bright white ass rounding out of the sea like a beachball, their bodies cutting a smooth wake through the waves.

Before long the shore grew closer, and both could see a small crowd gathered, and hear their excited chatter mixing with the crazed laughter of black-capped gulls. They smirked at each other and swam on, both scanning the beach for their small nondescript white house.

Sara pointed in the direction they may have floated from and Grissom nodded in agreement and they swam confidently on. The onlookers followed and pointed at them and others joined the fun. Sara spotted all her flowers clustered on the back patio and Gil his sodden swimming trunks, its lurid colors bright in the pale sand, at nearly the same time.

Gris and Sara swam in to chest high water and bobbed in the waves, chuckling at their predicament. She shrugged and he smirked and they waded straight in, as unselfconscious as Adam and Eve before the Fall. Only their bright red cheeks betrayed their embarrassment. But as they walked forward through the surf, hand in hand, heads high and shoulders squared, the onlookers were the ones that dropped their eyes. That pure natural beauty, male and female, yin and yang, the raw sexual majesty of them both made them all grow silent and respectful.

Grissom scooped up his suit and hat and sunglasses and donned only the straw hat and they strolled indoors and closed the door and collapsed in helpless laughter.

When the breathless giggles subsided to amused chuckles they washed all the sand and salt from each other's bodies and put on comfortable clothes that warmed the chilled skin down to their bones. Grissom opened a bottle of crisp white wine and Sara got two glasses and they toasted each other and drank deeply, smacking their lips and sighing happily.

Reality, as it always does, broke the spell and the silence with the ringing of Gil's cell phone. He glanced at Sara and she shrugged and he reluctantly answered.

"Grissom."

"Kane here. I have a cancellation and some time and wanted to check in."

"Thanks. Sara is...her old self today," he answered, grinning at her. _And we've been making love all morning, for the first time in almost a month._

Sara smirked at him, reading his mind, and moved to the kitchen table.

"Good. I'm glad. I had hoped that...once she had a chance to read about her condition, she could better understand it. And recognize the symptoms and warning signals of another breakdown or reversal of progress."

"Yes. I think it's helped tremendously. As you said, she is a talented scientist, rational and intelligent and well-educated..." Sara blushed and looked pleased. "And it will help if her rational mind can...take over," Grissom said.

"I agree. Remember, there will be more ups and downs ahead. There is no easy fix or drug that will cure her, only time and work and professional help," he cautioned.

"I know. I'm learning too, and will try to be forewarned and deal with everything as it comes."

"Good. I think you both have the skills to deal with this, as scientists. I have some more material to send you?" Dr. Kane said.

"Okay. I think we're both up for a trip to the library and can get that."

"So–no signs of regression to childhood today?"

"Only the best kind, you might say. We've been, uh, getting in touch with our playful nature again. I'd nearly forgotten...how to play...like a child...and as a grownup. Let loose. Forget inhibitions and conventions and all that–and modesty too!" Grissom chuckled.

Dr. Kane chuckled too. "Great. It is a release, isn't it? Not to be too personal, but would that include, um, getting back in touch with the physical side of your relationship, too?"

Grissom laughed his rare deep hearty laugh. "Oh, yes, that too. No, uh, problems or inhibitions there either!" Sara giggled.

"I thought I could detect that happy tone in your voice!" He laughed. "That is an excellent sign, that Sara is acting and thinking and feeling and responding like a grown woman again..."

"Yes. Oh my God yes. She sure is! Sexy, funny, beautiful..." Sara pursed her lips and giggled.

"Right. I won't, um, keep you then! Just send an email when you're at the library..."

"Will do, Philip. Keep in touch."

Grissom said his farewells and looked at Sara and they laughed.

"So, I gather you were discussing our sex life?"

"Indeed," he said happily. "Our amazing and ever-surprising sex life." He got up and hugged her around the neck. "Like in every other way, you never cease to amaze me, my love."

"Huh! You too. Would you be telling anyone about our lovemaking, just a year ago?"

"Hell, no."

"That we skinny-dipped and walked through a crowd of strangers buck naked?"

"Not a chance."

"See? You keep surprising me too. Every day we're together." She kissed him happily.

They dressed more properly and drove to the small public library. The same two librarians looked up and brightened when they saw the handsome charming sexy Gil Grissom, but their faces fell when they saw his beautiful girlfriend with him. Grissom, oblivious to the newest broken hearts he left in his wake, went immediately to the computer and logged on with Dr. Kane. Sara noticed, as women can and do, and gave the ladies a sympathetic look before browsing through the shelves.

They worked in concentration and near silence, gathering any and all material they could find. Happily, the librarian gave Grissom a library card so they left with armloads of books and stacks of paper.

As they drove home, Sara remembered her appointment for the following morning.

"Let's stop by Consuela's and tell her what's going on. She may worry if there's no one home tomorrow."

"Good idea. Hey, about that. Since we have to be there so early, should we drive down tonight and stay in a nearby hotel?"

"That sounds lovely. How about...which hotel did you stay at when you were lecturing at the Forensic Academy Conference?"

"When we met?" Grissom grinned.

"Yes," she said, smiling at the memory.

"Ah. The one I should have taken you to, after our first meeting, our first coffee date, and made sweet love together..."

"No regrets, today," Sara chastised.

"Right. It was...close to the Berkeley campus. The center is where?"

Sara consulted her memory, having lived in San Francisco for years.

"Right. 41st Avenue is_ miles_ away from Berkeley. Let me think."

Grissom let her.

"Ooh! I know! The Ocean Park Motel!" Sara yelled excitedly. "It's on...46th, I think? I've always wanted to stay there. It's all Art Deco, and they have private garden Jacuzzis. Some of the CSIs had their girlfriends–or their relatives-- stay there when they were visiting from out of town. They all loved it."

"Sounds perfect."

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Grissom called up the Ocean Park Motel and made a reservation. Happily they had a suite with a kitchen available and when he explained they didn't know how long they would be staying, the clerk said they could stay two weeks and then see from that point on. They both looked forward to having a nice place to stay, a little luxury, to help ease that which Sara was about to go through.

Sara packed up everything they had and watered the plants and tidied for their absence. Grissom walked across the street to talk to Consuela as she did so.

The Gonzalez brothers were hanging out on the porch again. This time they didn't look at all friendly. _Maybe they are friendlier with Sara. Probably. Maybe they blame me for Sara's nightmare._ _Can't do much about that._

"_Buenos tardes,_" Grissom greeted them. They burst into sarcastic laughter and exchanged disparaging remarks in rapid Spanish. Grissom could only pick out a few words, _viejo_, old, and _bonita,_ pretty, among them. _Old man with a pretty girl._ _Not this crap again._

Grissom gave them his interrogation look and stared at them coldly until they looked away. He strode forward without another glance at the boys and they reluctantly moved aside, muttering. Consuela heard the voices, came to the door, and reprimanded her sons. They slunk away.

"Mr. Grissom. Don't mind them. Please come in."

He did so and they moved into the living room. Mrs. Gonzalez seemed nervous and embarrassed and flitted around the room. Grissom wondered if she had heard about their naked romp in the ocean and bare-assed walk across the beach or had even seen them–_what a thought_–and wondered if he should bring it up. He decided not to. She offered him coffee and seemed more settled as they sipped it.

"I'm taking Sara to a mental health center in San Francisco tonight," he told her.

"Good," Consuela said. "Will she have to stay there?"

"No, thank goodness. We're going to stay in a hotel a few blocks away. I don't know how long we'll be gone."

"That's fine. I'm glad. I hope Miss Sara gets the help she needs."

"I hope so too. If you had seen her when she was well, she was...incredible. So smart, so dedicated, so funny, so kind..." Consuela smiled at him.

She looked him over, noticing he was wearing the same clothes she'd seen him in for days.

"Mr. Grissom?"

"Gil, please."

"Gilberto?"

"Okay," he chuckled.

"Gilberto, my late husband was big like you. Tall. I still have a lot of his clothes upstairs. Would you like some of them?"

"Oh, I don't know..."

"Please. They are going to waste. The moths will eat them. And I would like to know...they are being used...by a friend."

"All right," he said with a smile, and they went upstairs.

"What happened to your husband, if you don't mind me asking?" Grissom said as she was poking through a closet.

"Car accident," Consuela said simply. "My Alberto–he was only 34. Killed instantly."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Grissom said kindly.

"He was a good man. A fine husband. A hard worker," she said sadly. "Here." She picked out a denim shirt, two cotton, a flannel, and a dress shirt, and held them up appraisingly.

"I thought so. They look like they will fit you. Try this jacket." Consuela handed him a dark grey jacket and Grissom put it on. To his surprise it fit almost perfectly, just long enough in the arms and loose enough to button up easily.

"Ah," she said with satisfaction. "You look good. Now you have something nice to wear in the big city."

"Thank you."

"_De nada_," Consuela shrugged. "Take the dress pants too, and these." A pair of khakis and a pair of black pants and some jeans. She loaded him down and chuckled at the sight.

They walked back downstairs and Grissom told her to use all the fresh produce in the beach house, saying it would spoil otherwise. He laid the clothes down and dug out a card and gave her their contact information in San Francisco.

Consuela surprised him by giving him a warm hug and wishing him luck.

"So long, Gilberto. Take care."

"You too, Consuela. And thanks."

He walked back in with an armload of clothes and Sara chuckled.

"Been shopping?"

"No," Grissom smiled at her. "Consuela gave me some of her husband's old clothes." She looked them over.

"Nice. Let's put them in the car."

"Go ahead. I have one more thing to do." Sara went to the car and Grissom dug out his wallet, found an envelope, and put most of his cash inside, with a note for Mrs. Gonzalez, saying he hoped it would cover the next month's rent and utilities and all her expenses.

"Ready?" Sara asked when she saw him locking up.

"Let's go."

"I'll drive," Sara offered. "I haven't driven in a month."

"If you want, thanks." He punched in the address in the GPS unit and they set out.

As soon as they got on the highway it started to rain. It grew dark quickly and Sara quickly became tense with the traffic and glaring headlights and slick roads. Grissom offered to drive and she gritted her teeth and said it was fine, she could handle it. They both got quiet.

After meandering through the steep narrow streets of San Francisco, she pulled up in front of the hotel at last. Sara stretched and tilted her head to ease the tension in her shoulders and neck. _God. I need to relearn to drive too? I've been driving for 20 years._

Grissom jumped out with a bag and checked in and she joined him in the lobby. They looked around at the nicely decorated lobby and smiled at each other in relief. Sara took a key and Gil went back to the car for the rest of their stuff. He found her sprawled across the big bed.

"Hey, this is nice," he told her. "I love it."

"Yeah," Sara said. She seemed distracted.

"You okay, honey?"

"I'm fine." _Uh oh._ "I'm going to take a hot bath and relax a while. You?"

"Uh, I think I'll change and go downstairs to the bar. Join me after?" Gil said hopefully.

"No, thanks. We have an early day tomorrow. Think I'll just watch some TV."

"Okay, sweetheart. I won't be late." He gave her a little kiss and changed as she went into the bathroom.

Sara ran a bath and poured the complementary lotion in and took a long hot bath. It eased some of the tightness in her muscles and she got in her comfy pajamas and set the alarm for 5:30 the next morning. She propped some pillows up and lay in bed and turned on the TV.

Grissom went down and ordered a Scotch, but kept thinking about Sara. _She needs to talk. She needs you,_ his conscience told him. So he left most of his drink and some bills on the bar and went back upstairs.

"Hey, that was quick," Sara said.

"Yeah. I missed you."

"Really? We've been together all day."

"I know, but...is anything bothering you?"

Sara sighed and switched off the television. "I'm just thinking...about tomorrow. Going through all the interviews. All the questions."

"Sure. I'd be apprehensive too."

"And, driving, today. I didn't think it would be that hard. It...was nerve-wracking. And I'm a good driver."

"You are. You said yourself, it's been a month. And that was a tough drive, the night, the rain, navigating through the city...don't be hard on yourself."

"Okay." Sara smiled a little. "Thanks."

"You want to go out? Get something to eat?"

"Nah. I'm too comfortable. Room service?"

"Excellent idea," Gil said. They picked something out and went to bed early. Sara couldn't sleep, thinking nervously about having to spill her guts to strangers in the morning.

She was still awake when Gil started moaning and whimpering and moving around in his sleep. Sara gently shook his shoulder. He awoke with a jerk and gasped.

"Sara? Are you okay?" he said, looking frightened.

"I'm fine, Gil. I'm good. What was it? You don't have many nightmares."

"No," he said slowly. "It was horrible." He shivered.

"Tell me?"

"I was looking for you. I could hear you calling for help. I could hear you crying," Gil said emotionally. Sara took his hand. "Finally I found you. All alone in a big white room. You were sitting on the floor, facing away."

Sara waited a beat. "And?"

"And I went to you. It wasn't you. It was Natalie, with your face. Your face and her face, combined, somehow. Your voice. And you–she–was singing that damn song. About the doll."

"The song?" Sara asked.

"Right. You don't know that part. We caught Natalie after she'd kidnapped you. I interviewed her, trying to gain her confidence, giving her compliments," he said bitterly, "even though it made me sick inside. When I said your name she got angry. Said it was 'all about her. Her, her, her.' Then–it was as if she wasn't in the room any more. Natalie started singing this song about a broken doll."

Grissom took a shuddering breath. Sara squeezed his hand encouragingly.

"I shook her and yelled. Tried to get her to...to tell me...where you were." He broke down.

Sara hugged him. "That must have been horrible."

"Yes. It was! She was the only one...and she wouldn't tell me."

"Hey. It's over. I made it."

"Huh. I should be telling you that. Big help I am."

"It's okay. You can't always be strong. I can't either. You _are_ helping me, okay? We help each other."

"Yeah."

"And we sure as hell can't control what we dream about."

"Nope." Grissom finally smiled at Sara. "You're right. Thanks."

"Anytime. Let's get some more sleep."

"Good night, Sara," Grissom kissed her. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams, love."

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Comforted by Sara's warm and loving presence, Gil fell asleep again. Sara watched him sleep for awhile, finally dozing off near dawn. She was frazzled when the alarm went off and hurried about trying to get ready. Grissom suggested breakfast but she wasn't hungry, so they made coffee in the kitchen and drank that.

As almost always with a doctor's appointment, they had to wait. Sara checked in and presented her insurance card. Thanks to Catherine, she was still covered by the crime lab.

The waiting room was half full, mostly with veterans and their family members. Grissom brought an armload of library books to pass the time. When he dropped one on the floor with a loud bang, the soldiers jumped. He apologized but was met with silent cold glares.

At last Sara's name was called and Gil gave her a kiss and a squeeze of the hand before she went in. He watched her disappear through the door, sighed, and opened a book. Hours went by. Gil got up at times to ease the stiffness from sitting so long and paced a bit.

In early afternoon, Sara finally came out.

"Let's get out of here. Get something to eat," she muttered. Grissom followed. She didn't say anything else until they were seated in a fast food place.

"God, that was tedious."

Gil made an encouraging noise.

"First, I had to get my blood pressure and pulse and height and weight taken. They told me my pressure was high–I can guess why–and I'm underweight."

Grissom gave her a little smile. "Yeah, I know, you've been telling me that!" Sara finally smiled back at him.

"Then, I had to fill out a full medical history. Vaccinations. Diseases. Broken bones. Surgeries. Hospital stays. Medical history. I could barely remember all the times I've had a broken bone! They're said they're going to try to get my records from four different hospitals in and around Tomales Bay. Huh. Good luck with that. We had to keep going to different places so the abuse wasn't noticed. Oh, and my time at Desert Palm too. Family history. That was tough. By age twelve I didn't really know a lot, you know?"

"I can imagine," Gil said kindly.

"Pages of it. Any history of heart disease? Cancer? Diabetes? Are my periods regular? Am I sexually active? Do I get headaches? Insomnia? Take drugs? When that was done, they put it all in my chart and a doctor came in and gave me an exam. Eyes, ears, heart, lungs, a Pap test, breast exam, all that. He went over everything I'd just written down too. I'm supposed to get X-rays and find out how well all those injuries are healed." She heaved a sigh.

"Then I sat in a room for an hour, before they took me to another windowless room, the size of a closet, and had me fill out a questionnaire. All about my mental status. I could tell by the questions what they wanted to know–am I schizophrenic, delusional, phobic, suicidal, psychotic. Do I have panic attacks, anxiety disorders, on and on. I was tempted to skew my answers, but decided to tell the truth. Hours, filling in little circles in pencil. It reminded me of taking my SATs!"

Grissom nodded.

"After that, I had a psych eval. Memory tests. Cognitive ability. If I can figure out how shapes fit together. Multiple choice tests. Read an essay and answer questions about it. Another interview about my mental health and symptoms."

Sara picked at her food.

"You know, if they want to treat stress disorder, they have a funny way of doing so," she said.

"I'm sure it's all relevant," he said mildly.

"Yeah. I guess so."

"So, did you meet your therapist?"

"No. I have that to look forward to," Sara said bitterly.

"Hey. I know this is an ordeal. But it's the way to get better."

"You're right. As usual. I'll have to remind myself of that." Sara gave him a genuine smile and he returned it.

"So, what would you like to do the rest of the day?"

"Something fun."

"Great idea," Gil said heartily.

"Let's, um, go back to Golden Gate Park? While the sun is shining," Sara suggested.

"Let's. We have some happy memories there."

"We do," Sara said, smiling.

So they drove to the park. Sara asked Gil to pull over at one point and she dashed into a drug store, emerging with a store bag and a mischievous smile. Grissom gave her an inquiring look but she just shook her head.

They strolled around and admired the famous view of the Golden Gate Bridge, hand in hand. Sara dug around in her bag.

"Remember this?" She showed him the photograph of the two of them taken on their first date, when he was a lecturer and she a grad student, showing him around the city.

"Sure. I didn't know you kept a copy," Grissom said.

"Of course. I, uh, left all the others behind, that night. The one taken during that case with the fantasy..."

"Caprice Unlimited," Gil supplied. "The Japanese garden. Yeah, I saw it...in your locker. Along with your name tag–in the trash," he said sadly.

"I'm sorry," Sara told him.

"I'm sorry too, babe. Sorry that I didn't help when you needed it."

"You're helping me now." Sara said. She gave him a kiss.

"Hey," she said brightly. "Let's recreate this." She pulled out her newly purchased disposable camera and looked around.

"Okay!" Grissom glanced from the photograph to the view and lined them up, he to her right. Sara spotted a young couple and asked them to take their picture. They agreed happily.

Grissom stood as he had so many years ago, gave the same smile, and held Sara around the waist. He pulled her closer as the young man took multiple photographs, continuing when Sara turned and kissed him. Sara thanked him and took the camera from his hand.

"You folks on your honeymoon?" he asked.

Grissom chuckled. "No. Just remembering our first date–nine years ago."

"We're on ours," the young woman told them. "It's good to see two people in love."

"It sure is," Sara told her. "Even better to be in love." Gil gave her a squeeze and the young couple laughed and agreed. They wished each other luck and walked away.

"Someday," Gil whispered in Sara's ear. "I'd like to be on a honeymoon with you."

Sara lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yes." They kissed.

They walked around some more, both deep in thought. _Yes. I would say yes. Mrs. Grissom. My husband, Gil._ _Sara. My wife. My beloved wife. _Sara and Grissom grinned at each other, knowing they were thinking along the same lines.

"Let's go back to the hotel," Sara said, her eyes dancing.

"You read my mind," he told her.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Sara and Grissom went back to the Ocean Park and made love. They'd taken another step in their relationship and their lovemaking reflected that. Though Grissom's mother had brought up the subject of marriage–bluntly–both had avoided discussing it since. So Grissom's declaration meant a lot. To both. Their coupling was joyous and uninhibited.

Afterwards, bodies wound together, they conversed quietly. Gil reluctantly told her that he couldn't stay much longer. Nick had called that morning and sounded really worried. Brass too. Grissom paid closer attention to them because Catherine sounded more like she wanted to pass along gossip, or at least complain to somebody.

"I need to help Warrick."

"I knew–we both knew–this was coming."

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"I know."

Sara tried to be understanding–she made her voice sound it anyway–but inside she was hurt. Disappointed. She knew Gil was torn. He had an...obligation to Warrick. Grissom couldn't let him down now. Not when that he had come so far and overcome so much. Selfishly, she realized, she wanted Gil to herself for longer. She loved it. Without work. Without interruptions. Immediately she felt guilty for resenting Warrick, for letting herself feel, however briefly, that she needed more help than Warrick did.

At this point he could do little more than wait for her all day. Try to cheer her up afterwards. And it fell into place.

"Gil. I would think less of you if you didn't go. He needs you. I need you, but I...have a path to follow now."

Grissom bit his lip and looked somber. "I'll be back soon."

"That would be good. Go. With my blessing," she said earnestly.

"Okay. Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome."

"I'll...go see when the next flight out is."

"Won't you want your car?"

"No. I want you to keep it. So you'll know I'll be back."

"I never doubted it."

"Thank you. God you are good to me, honey."

"You too." They kissed deeply, desperately, sadly. Gil tore himself away and gasped and stroked her sweet face.

"Sara, you know I love you, right?"

"I do."

"Good. Wait here. I'll be right back." Gil kissed her again and climbed out of bed. Instantly he missed her warmth, her body. Sara heard him call the front desk and then Southwest Airlines and repeat the information as he made his reservation and wrote it all down.

He came back and she held up the blankets and welcomed him back into her arms.

"So we have–about four hours?" Sara said at last.

"Yes. More like three, though, to get checked in and go through security."

"Right." They looked at each other, their heads on the same pillow.

"Plenty of time," she said.

"Then let's not waste it." Gil rolled her over and made love to her again. Gently he restrained her whenever she started to touch him, though he welcomed her soft kisses. It was slow and passionate and profound.

"I'll miss you," he whispered, when it was done.

"I'll miss you too. I already do."

"Me too."

He sighed, but smiled when she suggested a dip in the hotel hot tub. Gil jumped up and rooted through his bagged clothes for his bathing suit.

"You're not going bare-assed again, are you?" he teased.

"Nah. I'll be good," Sara said, grinning at him. "I have a sports bra and panties. You could tell, but I don't think anyone else could. Besides, these tubs are supposed to be private."

"Then let's hop to it," he said, bouncing on his toes.

She laughed and they took a fluffy hotel robe each and the biggest towels and went down to the courtyards together. They lay back in the warm water, put the jets on full, and let it all wash away. For a while.

Before long he was throwing his clothes and things into bags–-Sara gave him her suitcase–and she drove him to the airport and pulled along the curb.

"Would you like me...to see you off?"

"No. It would be–even harder."

"I suppose. Call me when you land. Call me when you get home. Call me...anytime."

"I will. You do the same, okay?"

"Be safe. I love you."

"I love you, Sara."

They kissed goodbye, hands stroking hair, lips brushing and then sinking into lips.

"Go. Please. I can't...I need to cry."

Gil's eyes glistened and he kissed her again and got out, grabbed his luggage and strode inside, only looking back once, through the revolving door.

Sara buried her face in her hands and wept.

**TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Grissom went through the motions of boarding a plane numbly. Stand in line. Check-in desk. Luggage. Stand in line. Security. Find the gate. Boarding pass. Wait. Wait to be called onboard. Stand in line to get to his seat. He yearned to dash outdoors and sweep Sara up in his arms and tell her he'd never leave her again–but–this wasn't a Hollywood movie. Nor a romance novel. It was his life, her life, the life they had chosen and carved out for themselves.

His love-life and work-life had been entwined for a very long time, but Sara had severed that and he had to accept it. Another member of his family needed him. He had to return to help Warrick, hoping that Sara could–-had to--move forward on her own. _I told her I would see her through this. I let her down. Again._ The guilt tore at him.

Grissom stared through the window as the big plane rumbled along, faster and faster, then lifted from the earth falling away. He watched the lights of San Francisco glow brightly and then disappear behind him. _I left my heart in San Francisco._ _Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took..._

He kept staring out the window the entire ride. If there was a passenger beside him–there was, but he left Grissom alone–he couldn't say. When the pilot announced the distance from Las Vegas and the dwindling time they had left to reach it, Gil pulled his thoughts away from Sara and focused them on Warrick, his team, his work. He took a cab straight to the lab.

Sara dried her tears and drove slowly back to the hotel. She felt drained. She got in her pajamas, got in bed, hugged the pillow that smelled of Grissom to her body and watched a silent TV.

She jumped when her phone rang and scooped it up.

"Hi honey," she said happily.

"Hi," Gil breathed with a smile.

"How was your flight?"

"Lonely."

Sara chuckled sadly. "Yeah. It's lonely here too. Where are you?"

"In a cab, going in to work."

"You're not going home first?"

"No. The sooner I deal with this the sooner I can come back to you."

"That's sweet. Thank you," Sara said, wiping her eyes.

"You haven't slept?"

"Not yet. Not until I heard from you, you know."

"Okay. Go to sleep now, honey," he said tenderly.

"Go to work. Be safe and take good care of yourself. I love you," Sara said emotionally.

"I love you too, Sara."

"Send the team my love too."

"I will. Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night, Gil."

Both closed their phones and sat back. Sara set the alarm for her appointment in five hours and let his words lull her into a light refreshing sleep.

Grissom's return was unexpected, so he got a kick out of the reaction from every individual. They all lit up, except for Conrad Ecklie, who took one look from down the hall, recognized him, blanched, did a U-turn and practically ran away. Grissom laughed.

He called Brass and told him and they sniggered. Grissom invited him to breakfast at the end of shift and Jim happily agreed. They had a lot to talk about.

**TBC**


	19. Chapter 19

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

It was the next day before Gil and Jim could meet up for breakfast at one of their favorite hangouts. Before they'd even ordered coffee, Jim Brass started with the questions about Sara. Grissom chuckled.

"She's doing okay," he reassured him.

"Details." Brass demanded.

Grissom told him about everything that had happened since that horrible nightmare, though he skimmed over the wild sex and the skinny-dipping episode! Grissom just said their relationship was deepening and back on a good track. Brass read between the lines and concealed a smirk.

Grissom said Sara was staying in a nice hotel near the mental health center and beginning her treatment.

"I know it must be hard on her. Spilling her guts to strangers," Brass said.

"It is. For such a private person," Grissom sighed.

"I hope it helps. But to bring up all that shit, all that trauma?"

"Yes. I worry about that too. It will be...hell for her."

"She'll get through it. Like she's gotten through everything else," Jim said encouragingly.

"I know. But it's killing me that I'm not there," Grissom said, his voice thick.

"I know, buddy. Maybe you can't be there physically. But...try to be there for her emotionally?"

"Do you have any idea how hard that is for me?" Grissom asked.

"I do, believe me," Brass said with a wry smile. "I'm not exactly _emotionally available_ myself."

The corner of Grissom's mouth twitched and he nodded. _I...choose men who are emotionally unavailable..._

"And I'm the last person in the world to ask about how to make a relationship work. I'll never be a marriage counselor! Just..."

"What?" Grissom asked, when he saw Jim struggling for words.

"Just...don't try to be perfect, okay? Nobody is. Don't try to say the perfect thing. Just be honest. Don't try to fix her or fix any of her problems...especially from here," Brass continued.

"That seems to be a male trait," Gil commented.

"It is. Guys want to do, woman want to talk it out first. When a woman needs to talk, well, let her talk. Don't interrupt, don't feel like you have to do anything, unless she asks. Don't even offer advice, unless you are sure it will help and she needs–no, wants--to hear it. Just...listen."

"Yes. You're right. I'll try to remember that."

They picked at their food.

As if on cue, Grissom's phone rang. The men exchanged a hopeful look.

"Grissom. Hi honey! We were just talking about you." Brass grinned at him happily.

"No, not like that. Want to talk to him?" Grissom offered the phone and Brass grabbed it eagerly.

"Hello, beautiful!" Grissom watched Jim's face as he talked to his girl Sara. He listened to his side of the conversation and his heart warmed.

"Good to hear your voice too."

"Are you taking care of yourself? Sleeping okay?"

Brass made a face. "No, I don't want to hear about how you miss a certain entomologist in your bed..." Gil chuckled. "Spare me. Are you eating?"

"Good. Yeah. We're both thinking about you. Worrying."

"You're right, Grissom would say, 'concerned'." Brass chuckled. "So how are you, really?" There was a pause, except for a few words of encouragement from this end.

"Don't worry about him right now. Worry about you! He's fine. Looking like a lovesick puppy at the moment, and missing you like crazy...but he's, well, he's just Grissom."

Gil moved to grab the phone. "Uh oh, looks like Romeo wants to talk to you now," Brass said, playfully dodging Grissom's hands. "I miss you too, Sara. We all do. Want me to come see you, maybe?"

"Okay. Stay in touch. Here he is."

"Hey," Gil said, his heart lifting to hear Sara's warm cheerful response. "Where are you now?"

"Waiting for my first appointment of the morning," Sara said resignedly.

"Call me when it's done, okay?" Sara agreed softly. "Do you know who you'll see?" Grissom asked.

"No," she said, "guess I'll find out soon enough."

"I wish I was there--holding your hand," Gil said sadly. Brass got up and went to the men's room.

"I wish you were here too, honey. Kissing me. Making love...I dreamed we were, last night," Sara whispered.

"I'm sure I'll dream about you soon," Gil said, his voice deepening.

"That's right. My day is just beginning. Yours is just ending. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Sara. You know I want to hear your voice. Anytime. All the time! Don't hesitate to call..."

"You too. Hey they're calling me. I love you, Gil."

"Love you, Sara." There was a click and a dial tone.

Grissom sighed and pushed his cold food away. He gestured for the check but the waitress told him his friend had already paid and left. _Thanks, Jim. We still need to talk about Warrick, though._

He drove to the villa, picking up their dog on the way. Grissom stopped at the park and gave Rocky a walk and then let him run loose and chase sticks, picturing Sara laughing the last time they did this. The boxer sensed his mood and dropped a stick at his feet and rubbed against his legs. Gil patted his big head and looked in his brown eyes.

"I know, boy. She misses you too. Let's go home. And be lonely bachelors...together."

The dog wagged his stubby tail in understanding and followed him to Sara's car. It felt strange, somehow wrong, to drive her car with her gone, but he didn't have a choice. A car carries a lot of its owner's personality. Sara's blue Prius held her likes, her brand of snacks and choice of essentials, her scattered clothes and possessions. Her scent.

Grissom opened the glove compartment to get Rocky a treat–Sara always kept a supply inside–and his breath caught. Carefully taped inside was one of the photographs of the two of them taken on that happy day with the rollercoasters. They were kissing deeply, their faces glowing with passion. Grissom remembered the feel of Sara's soft lips on his and he missed her with every part of him.

Returning home, Gil did his usual routine and fed the dog before collapsing in bed. He fell asleep instantly.

The ringing of his phone and his body woke him up. Grissom rubbed his thickening cock through his shorts as he regained consciousness and then reached for the cell.

"Hello?" he said groggily.

"You okay?" Sara asked. "What's up?"

"Me," Grissom said, slipping his hand under his waistband. "I was dreaming about you and I woke up with Little Gilbert..."

"Getting bigger," Sara said breathily. "Harder..."

"Yeah," Gil moaned. He shifted to strip naked.

"What are you doing now?"

"Taking my clothes off..."

"Do you want to?" Sara asked, her voice husky.

"Yes, baby, yes. Do you?"

"Yes. It's been a while. What are you doing now?"

"Stroking myself. Slowly. What are you doing?"

"Getting naked. Getting in bed," Sara answered. Grissom could hear rustling and groaned. "Touching myself."

"I can see you...so beautiful...all that bare skin. Your face, your eyes..."

"I can see you too. God I want you."

"Are you rubbing yourself?" Gil's voice was deep and throaty.

"Yes. I'm already wet for you. You always get me so wet..." Grissom moaned and stroked himself harder.

"God Sara you turn me on."

"What's it look like now?" Sara asked, her breaths getting shorter.

"Dark red. Hard as a rock. There's a drop of pre-cum..."

"I'm licking it off," Sara said. Gil moaned. "Now I'm taking the head of you into my mouth..."

"Grr...I'm sucking your pussy. So warm and wet..."

Sara squirmed and dipped a finger inside herself and pumped it in and out.

"I can feel your tongue, your lips, making me hotter and ready for you, baby. I'm sucking you hard now..."

Gil grabbed a tube of lubrication and urgently smeared it on himself. "I can feel your wet mouth around my cock. I can feel you sucking me so hard I want to scream..."

"I'm rubbing my clit. I'm feeling your fingers getting me ready to come. I'm touching my breasts, my nipples...you're sucking my nipples...I'm pushing my breast up so I can suck my own nipple..."

"Jesus, Sara. You got me so hard..."

"I...oh...I want you, Gil. I need you..."

"I'm...ah...I'm sliding my cock inside you now, honey. So tight...so fucking tight...around my thick hard cock..."

"Yes. Oh God yes. I'm putting another finger inside me...but it's not as good...it's not as big and hard as you..."

"I can feel...I'm getting closer..." Gil's hips thrust up into his hand.

"Yes! Fuck me. Harder..."

"Fuck...I'm going to spurt my hot come inside..."

There were pants and moans and a soft rhythmic squelching noise on the phone.

"I can hear you stroking your pussy...are you close?" Gil gasped out, his hand a blur.

"Yesss...so close..."

"Me too!...Oh God!..." Another pump and he ejaculated with a loud cry. As he disappeared inside the rippling orgasm Gil could hear her follow him.

"Mmm," Sara moaned after her breath slowed. "That was...good."

"Yes...yes it was. Not as good as..."

"Yes. But better than...nothing."

"True, lover. Hang on...I need to change the sheets..." Gil shifted the phone to the crook of his shoulder.

"Is your come all over?" Sara asked throatily. He could hear her stroking herself again.

"Yess...all over the bed. On my hand..."

"I want to suck it off..."

"Suck my hand. Then kiss me...hard..." Grissom stood and grabbed his dick again.

"I can taste you. I can taste our juices mingled together. My thighs, my hand is all wet..."

"I'm licking it off. I'm moving my tongue up the inside of your legs..."

"Umm, yes, love that...love when you make love to me with your mouth..."

"Oh. Oh God Sara," Gil's erection was squeezed in his big hand. "You taste so good."

He rolled his tongue around his mouth and stroked it across his palate.

Sara sprawled back and closed her eyes. Her legs were wide apart, knees up. Sara's fingers probed and dipped, circled and rubbed. "Your tongue...it makes me crazy..."

"Gonna make you come. Suck you. Get you off..."

"Oh...oh...yes! I'm...Ah!" Her voice rose until it was just a scream, then subsided. Gil closed his eyes and felt and heard her ecstasy.

"Good, baby. Want to make you feel good. Feel how much I love you."

"You do. Every time."

"So do you, Sara. So do you."

"Um hmm."

"Hey. I'm going to, uh, finish this in the shower. Call you after?"

"Yes, love. Go. Call me...when you're_ finished_. I'll be thinking of you all wet and hard..."

"Jesus Sara. I'm hanging up now!"

Sara laughed. "I love you."

"Love you, Sara. Bye."

**TBC**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N**: Shifting to Sara's POV.

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Sara got up and washed her hands. That phone sex was hot. Sure was. But...why do I feel, I don't know, cheap? Easy? Is this all we have left? Sex?

_No! We love each other._ _He adores me. Admires me, my intelligence, my body, my personality...and I love him so much. More than anyone in the world! _"Don't ever doubt it, that I love you Sara."

Sara looked in the mirror for a long time. She wasn't vain, she had never spent much time doing that, but there was nothing much else to do. _Get better._ Ha. It took me my whole life to get to this point. Think I can get my head on straight in a few weeks? Months? _Who am I, anymore?_

Without Gil to reassure her she felt her old insecurities resurface. The nagging voice of doubt and self-criticism. _I like my eyes, yes, he always says they're my best feature. So are his. But one's bigger than the other. _They always are–-remember that case about body symmetry? That beautiful girl..such a shame. _I don't obsess about my looks. I know I was blessed. _

Would Gil love me if I were plain? Disfigured? Burned, say?

_Of course he would. Wouldn't he? _Yes. He's not shallow. Not at all.

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty. That is all we know, and all we need to know."_ Only a beautiful man, inside and out, would say that. Know that. And he is._

_Sometimes I think people were born with the faces they deserve. Faces that reflect their personality, not just their genetics. Sometimes not, but ugly people are often ugly inside. _That's not very nice. _Hey, it's just an observation. I mean, you can see intelligence in a face, right? Humor? Stupidity? Compassion? Bitterness? Cruelty? Experience? _True. And a lot more. Like how one's face changes after you lose your virginity._ Yeah._

_And Gil says he loves my smile. But when I'm not smiling...like this...I look...too sad. Sad Sara Sidle. Preoccupied. _No. Thoughtful_. _That's not a bad thing. _I guess. But what about that gap in my teeth? He says it's endearing–but I can still hear those kids taunting me. Calling me beaver...chipmunk...stork...giraffe. And I don't smile much in Vegas. So deadly serious. I can't exactly stand around grinning when there are victim's families, their lovers, their friends...breaking down in hysterical tears or flying into a rage right there. It's disrespectful. _Of course. It's a life filled with tragedy. Hurt. Like being a funeral director. They can't even answer the phone cheerfully.

_If I feel happy, if I feel cheerful, doesn't having to be somber ruin that? Doesn't_ _your mood change with your expression?_ I suppose._ Yes it does._

_And I sure as hell don't feel like smiling anymore. Now he's gone._

_The feel of the dead...even through gloves...like cold squishy rubber. Blood and brains and body parts. The smell. The smell so bad you can taste it. The sickly-sweet stench of death. That gets into your pores and skin and hair. Maggots. Carabid beetles. Vomit. Not only having to see it and smell it but process and collect it. How much of that can I take? Can anyone? The screams in my head...sirens...the ringing phone that yanks me from that blessed sleep...into another, real, nightmare._

_I look tired. _I am tired. All the time._ That's the depression. So will I have to be on happy pills, forever? _

Hey. One step at a time, okay?

_I can't stop this feeling of...turmoil. The repeating thoughts, the same soundtrack and video of images, of memories, of the voices of killers, so dispassionate, so uncaring. Those that murder or maim for the thrill of it. Rapists. Abusers. The glare of neon on the dark alleys, making the huddled crumpled dead body even more surreal. The endless jangling of slot machines, the look of greed and delusion on everyone's faces. The contrast of life going on oblivious to the suffering and death just steps away, of money and flash and power and wretched poverty and jealous anger and helplessness. 24/7. A city of vice. A city built on doing ill to others, young girls selling their bodies, tourists buying sex, or gambling away life savings and your kid's education and your family's future, robbing each other with a smile and a "free" bed or a cocktail. _

_Look at Warrick. How hard he's had to struggle against the lure of addiction. Look at Catherine. How stripping off her clothes for money and dancing in front of lustful men changed her attitude toward all men, everyone, made her distrustful and jaded. And these were the ones, the Vegas natives, that rose above that filth. _

_Unlimited alcohol and drugs. I fell too. I let myself believe that one more drink would take away the pain. A couple of beers with breakfast. Gil had to save my career. I leaned on him until he was all I had left._

_Las Vegas. That place makes me–made me sick. In the head. _

Do I love him so much that I can live there again?

_Give yourself a chance. People can change._

Change, yes. Completely? Not really. I can't change my DNA or my past or my childhood...I can't just will that all away. I can't stop the nightmares and the flashbacks of being under that car. _Trapped. Left to die slowly, in agony. The crunching snap–the sound of breaking my own arm to escape. No one to hear my screams or dying gasping breaths. Drowning. Drowning in a desert. Huh. How ironic is that?_

_The split second decision to leap from that speeding car–and then the endless What ifs? afterward. She was relentless–unstoppable–even smashing her head through the glass didn't make her hit the brakes. Tumbling like sock in a dryer, knowing it would hurt like hell, maybe kill me, but the pain was so much worse than I imagined...and then helpless, unable to even lift my head or focus my eyes...seeing that monster come after me again. Like a killing machine, a Terminator. All that training in weaponless defense and at the shooting range–useless. Couldn't even defeat a girl no bigger than me._

_How can I ever feel safe again? Not wonder, irrationally or not, that someone is lurking in every shadow, that every stranger is a threat, that I'm always being watched?_

_That last case. I can't remove the image of that persecuted boy with a sheet around his neck, hanged in his jail cell. "_He didn't even make a sound."_ And he had to bend his legs up to kill himself. And_ I_ was the one that persecuted him! I was determined to nail him for a murder he didn't commit! I was outsmarted by his sick twisted freak of a sister, a child, a prodigy like I was, like I could have been. My brains have been my greatest blessing. Yet they couldn't outwit a little girl either. All that. All that made me snap. Made me crazy. _

_Will he still love me if I'm crazy the rest of my life?_

I...I don't know. Can insanity be cured?

_Well...treated, yes. But won't it always be there? Won't I always be susceptible to another breakdown? Could I be like my mother? Or my...father? _

No! God No! You're not violent, Sara. You want to help people. Always did! _Who do I help, though, really? You can't help the dead._ And how often did we interrogate and hound the ones who were at that moment suffering the loss of their beloved? Strip away their clothes, their dignity, their belongings, their pride, their faith in the system? It's the living ones that keep me up at night...the innocent we assumed were guilty. How can I ever take that back?

"I don't think...genetics are a predictor of violent behavior._" Think, yes. But how can you know, Gil? Were you just saying that to be supportive?_

No...well, maybe. At the time, what else could he have said? It was reassuring. Sweet. He is sweet...now that we're together, I know that. He loves me. I feel it whenever we're together. See it in his eyes. Those blue eyes...like the beauty of the sky on a clear day. So honest, so caring, so wise. The first time I looked into his eyes I knew. I just knew.

Oh, Gil. I need you honey. I want to hear your voice again. No. He's sleeping. Or he's doing his thankless good work. Don't bother him, Sara.

"I gotta get out of here," Sara muttered to herself. "I'm talking myself in deeper, down into that...hole. That pit of melancholy. Like a hole so deep you can't see anything but darkness. Like Nick..."

"Stop it! Get outside! Go walk around this great city!" Sara yelled aloud. She put her shoes and jacket on and stepped out. Drew a deep breath and tried to distract herself by admiring the city of San Francisco.

_I was happy here. How long ago that seems...I was so young. Yet it was only, what, ten years? Eleven? Yes. A lifetime ago. I was at Berkeley, soaking up the science, the knowledge, the lectures...the sun. I loved it. Finally being around people my own age who were just as intelligent as me. Smarter, too. Not having to play dumb to fit in. Limit my own vocabulary or shut down when they looked confused and then immediately despised me. Like high school...who thinks high school was the best years of their lives? What a crock. _

_Meeting all those other students, from all over the world; young, bright, vibrant, idealistic...alive. Not dead. Not being ashamed of my home, my family. My raggedy clothes and dirty hair. Not ever having a friend over because dad would be high or drunk or both and they would be fighting...not being the unwanted foster kid. A new life. Re-inventing myself. Making good friends. Parties, hanging out, talking about anything...everything. Harvard, too. The yellows and reds of the fall, the perfection and peaceful quiet of the first snow...transforming the brown world...watching the first buds and blossoms of spring return. Though there were more rich snobs there. Lazy, spoiled, not knowing how lucky they were...to be born into loving intact families. I was happy those first years as a CSI, here, too, using my talents, feeling needed, when I still thought I could make the world better..._

_Like Ronnie. That chirping voice, every day, all damn day, like a baby bird with its mouth gaped, never getting enough. Saying how much she looked forward to her first mob hit. How cool that would be. Murder is never "Cool!" _"Hey! We've got another scene! You know I like it busy, right_?" I don't. How can you look forward to more hours of backbreaking toil and pain? I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to curl up in Gil's arms and sleep. And then, the last straw: "_We're not _really_ going to go after the cops, are we?"_ And I blew up at her. Lashed out. I don't lose my temper. Never, ever, allowed myself to, really. So where, how, can I release all that anger without hurting someone else? When my only role models were my parents, and how they were angry and screaming and hitting all the time? Isn't that in me too?_

_I never told anyone about my past. Just Gil._ And it made it better between us. Sharing secrets...it's about trust, you know? If you trust someone enough, the right person, they have more respect for you. They're grateful for the gift of your trust. The relationship evolves, gets deeper. If you open up completely to that man, the one you've always loved, and he doesn't judge or pity or reject you, then you can tell him anything. And he can do the same. Gil never had that either. Someone to share everything he hid inside. He opened up to me and I loved him even more.

And he asked me to live with him. He bought us a dream house. For a fifty year old bachelor to make that commitment at last...a loner...cerebral and private...to ask me to share his life with him? His sanctuary? All that he has, all that he is? He loves me. I know it to my bones. Just as I do him.

With the whole day to kill until her next appointment, Sara walked until her feet and muscles ached. Up and down those steep hills, the tidy eclectic homes with bright colors sprouting from the hills like trees, crazy angles, cobbled streets, palm trees and pots of rosemary. She let the memories wash over her. Sara found a little bistro, had a panini and a cappuccino, didn't try to talk to anyone, just sat by herself for hours and listened to the students' conversations, the young couples in love, remembering. Remembering the good.

I still know how to be happy. I still have love.

**TBC**


	21. Chapter 21

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"Hey, pretty lady, are you okay?"

Sara was jerked from her thoughts by the voice of a boy. The hours of contemplation had slid into full darkness and there were no other customers in the bistro. The boy stood at her table,

looking at her with large very dark eyes.

"Oh! I...yes, thank you," Sara smiled at him beatifically and he returned it. He was about ten years old, slender, with thick springy black hair, olive-skinned...Greek, maybe? The boy's teeth were very white and straight and his face had perfect features.

"Hi." Sara said, quickly taking him in and imagining how his face would meld soon into adolescence, then handsome adulthood.

"Hi," he smiled wider. "My Poppy," he gestured to a big white haired man with a thick moustache behind the counter, "is closing up.."

"Of course! I didn't realize how late it was. Do I owe you..." she scrambled for her purse. The older man approached, also smiling.

"No, you paid hours ago, young lady," he rumbled in a friendly way. "It's okay. It's raining. Would you like me to call you a cab?" Yes, definitely Greek, this man his grandfather. She imagined him younger, his face unlined and his hair black too...both the picture of masculine beauty. The resemblance was unmistakable.

Sara dug out her wallet. _Three dollars. Damn._ "Oh, uh. I don't have money for a taxi. Sorry..."

"No need to be. Do you live far?"

"I'm staying at the Ocean Park...on 46th."

"46th? And you walked all this way?"

"Yes." She thought quickly, realizing her feet were blistered and her legs couldn't take the hills and miles back. _Who do I know to give me a ride?_ "Do you have a phone book?"

"Of course." He looked at his grandson, who instantly ran back behind the counter to fetch it.

"Your grandson is very polite, very good-looking." The boy heard and smiled. _So is she._

"Thank you. May I?" he gestured to the empty chair.

"Of course." The man sank into it gratefully, groaning as his knees cracked.

"He is a bright boy. I am Spiro."

"Sara." She shook his large calloused hand, her long slender fingers disappearing into it.

"And this is Alexander," Spiro said as the boy returned.

"Alexander the Great," she said, and they both brightened. "He conquered the world. And you, Alexander, will conquer many women's hearts one day." The boy blushed and Spiro laughed heartily.

"No doubt. In my day..." Spiro saw from Sara's expression he didn't need to go on, and was flattered. "I am from Corfu."

"A beautiful island. So I've heard," Sara said, paging through the phone book. Spiro nodded thoughtfully. "I lived here, years ago. I'm sure I can find a ride back to the hotel...Ah. San Francisco PD." She pulled out her cell phone, dialed, and asked for the crime lab. Alexander resumed wiping down the tables as Spiro stretched out his legs and watched him indulgently.

"Crime lab, this is Marge."

"Marge," Sara said, wishing it was someone else, who would remember her. "This is Sara Sidle. I was a CSI 3 there, 11 years ago. Is Robert Zappalorti available?" _My old boss_.

"No, sorry, he's retired." _Retired? Why don't I know this?_

"Joan Lockhart?" _My closest friend on graveyard._

"I believe she's in Atlanta now." _Shit! How could I lose track of Joan?_ They went through more names, Sara desperately trying to think of them all, the names she once knew as well as her team's now, but the years since dimming them, even their faces, in her memory. Marge suggested a few when Sara explained she needed a ride, but she didn't recognize them, and didn't want to bother a stranger.

"John Weiser is here, in the lab," Marge suggested. Sara's heart sank. _He would be. The CSI I disliked the most._

"Yes, okay. I know him."

"I'll page him for you, Sara."

As she waited, she apologized to Spiro again. He assured her it was no bother, that it was good to sit in the company of such a pretty girl (Sara blushed and thanked him) and Alexander started sweeping up. Spiro got to his feet reluctantly, complaining about his aches and pains, and went to the cash register to count the money and make the night deposit.

"Sara! What are you doing in town!" _Having a nervous breakdown._

"Vacation," she answered carefully. "Could you give me a ride, John?"

"Happy to. I'm due for my dinner break." _Sure. John never missed a dinner break. He's a pig...no, pigs are very clean animals_...she remembered Grissom's voice saying that, and smiled. Sara told him where she was, where she was going, and John assured her he would be there soon. Sara sighed and hung up.

As she waited, they chatted a bit about Corfu and the Greek Islands and Spiro's late wife.

There was a beep of a horn. Sara shook hands with both and thanked them again. The boy unlocked and relocked the door for her and Spiro told her she was welcome again anytime.

"Your chariot awaits," John Weiser said, running his eyes up and down her body and licking his lips. "You're even prettier than I remember, Sara."

"Thanks." Sara said shortly. _And you're even fatter._ Weiser had little piggy eyes and oily hair, receding even more. They got in. She could smell his B.O.

John didn't start the engine. "So. It's great to see you. I'm hungry. Wanna get some dinner?"

Sara struggled to be polite. _This guy is a creep_. "No, please. I'm tired."

He gave her a look and started the car. "Tired. Too tired for an old friend...Maybe another night then. You're on vacation, huh? Alone?"

"No." He grunted.

"Still in Vegas?"

"Yes. How's the team?" That set him on a ramble about everyone, most of them names she didn't know, about his promotion and achievements. Sara just said Yes? Really? in the right places and wished she hadn't walked so far.

At a stoplight, Weiser put his hand on her knee. She batted it away.

"Stop it. I'm seeing someone."

"Oh, yeah? Then why isn't he giving you a _ride_," he made it sound dirty, "and I am?"

Sara just bit her lip and shook her head.

"Lover's quarrel, no doubt," he chuckled. "Anybody I know?" _Grissom._ _He'd shut you up with one look_. "You know I always I had a thing for you, Sara. _Yeah. And you don't take a hint._ "How long are you staying?"

"Not long. Look, could you just drive?"

"Don't have to be rude. I'm doing you a favor," Weiser said angrily. The rain beat down on the windows. They pulled up in front of the Ocean Park at last. _Great. Now he knows where I'm staying._

"I'll call you..." he started to say. Sara just jumped out.

Weiser rolled down the window. "You're welcome!" he yelled after her. "You always were a bitch."

"And you an asshole. Thanks for the ride," she shot back sarcastically and strode inside. She got her room key, still fuming, went to her room and locked and chained the door, then took a quick shower. _Fuck. Now I'm vulnerable. No friends left here. No Gil. I hate feeling like a helpless female._ _Fuck!_

Sara toweled off and tended to her blisters, sitting on the bed. The hotel phone rang.

_Should I answer it?_ _Is it that creep?_

"Sidle."

"Miss Sidle? There's a Greg Sanders on the line."

"Great!" Sara exclaimed. "Listen, if a John Weiser calls, could you tell him to get lost?"

"Sure," the concierge chuckled. "Weiser, got it. Will do. I'll put Mr. Sanders through?"

"Please! Thank you so much."

"Greg! You don't know how glad I am you called."

"Good to hear your voice, Sara. Brass told me where you were staying. What's going on?"

Sara told him the whole story and he soon got her laughing, thinking up all the crazy painful things he would do to Weiser if he tracked him down.

"I've missed this, Greg. I miss you."

Greg's voice softened. "God, Sara, I miss you too. Even before..."

"I left."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry...I didn't say goodbye."

"I don't want to say goodbye, Sara. Come back?"

"I need to heal, Greg. I'm..."

"Yes?"

"I'm a basket case. Did Gris say...?"

He snorted. "Grissom? Say anything? About you, about him? Huh."

"No, of course not! What was I thinking," they laughed at the thought.

"Tell me, Sara." Greg said, his voice deep and caring.

"Oh, Greg. Where do I start?"

"The beginning is a good place."

So Sara began at the beginning.

**TBC**


	22. Chapter 22

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

Greg listened to the beginning of her story in his usual affectionate and caring way.Sara responded to that emotion, feeling raw, vulnerable, needy. Realized that she'd let good old friends slip away and disappear. Felt their loss, felt alone, and left with only that one creep who knew her when she lived and worked in San Francisco. So she reached out to her old friend Greg, a lifeline to her old identity. He was the only one now she could talk to about Grissom who knew him and of their long, tangled, and sometimes rocky relationship. That love affair was what she had been contemplating those last hours at the Greek bistro. It was in the forefront of her mind, and she clung to whatever was there before it was replaced by those looping troubling traumatic thoughts and fears. So Sara shared more of herself, of her relationship with Grissom, with Greg, than she ever had before. And he knew it, felt it, missed her presence and their friendship, and responded in harmony and encouragement and understanding.

_Greg is my dearest friend now_, Sara realized, and told him so. He said she was the same to him. And they both just smiled for a moment, savoring it, knowing that though they couldn't see each other, that the other was a mirror.

"I mean, Gil and I are friends. Good friends."

"Of course."

"But we weren't for so long. We were in love with each other, but not friends. Co-workers only, with strict boundaries and without being able to express it."

"I knew," Greg said with deep understanding.

"Sure, you knew. Though we never talked about it..."

"We didn't have to. I knew. I felt it."

"See, that's what I mean. You understand and embrace your feelings, you empathize, you're very evolved for a man!" Greg chuckled and let her continue. "Gil... he can't deal with emotions. He can't, truly, understand them. He fears them, their power over him and their power on others. He tries, but it's just not in him. It's his personality. He listens, like you do, but..."

"He doesn't respond on an emotional level. He's a thinker, a scientist."

"Exactly. He habitually shuts me out when we're working, and opens up more, is a different man, when we're alone. We can share everything and trust each other, but I always have doubts...I've so often been disappointed before. I'm always afraid I'll lose him. I feel insecure when he's not here, like now. He gives me everything he can, his heart, his love, but he always...holds something back. Hides behind that wall, the one that he finally opened to me but will always be there, part of him. I told him of my pain and he felt it, he's not without emotion, he just doesn't know what to do with that story, that information. He can hold me and kiss me and tell me how much he loves me and needs me, and I love it and need it and draw strength from it, and return it with all my heart. We make love without inhibitions (Greg made a strangled noise and she shushed him). It's a way to heal and reassure each other, but sometimes sex isn't enough. It's wonderful, passionate, deep, mind-blowing, don't get me wrong (Greg was sputtering and Sara grinned and went on regardless) but...it's a pattern...it's a way of dealing with what he's feeling, I'm feeling, at that moment...and then it's over, and nothing has changed...we've felt and showed our love and given a profound gift to each other, but not addressed the bigger problems. How can we stay connected when we live so far apart? We can talk, sure, and communicate, but I need more. I need him, Greg," she choked up, and he comforted her with soothing words until the tears stopped and her voice grew steadier. "I need him so bad. I can't ever let him go. We're joined, heart and body and mind...so when we're apart I feel empty and sad and lost again. So I save up everything I want to say but...he's always...whenever we talk on a personal level, Gil listens but he has no answers, no insights. He just sits there, clearly uncomfortable, and usually changes the subject. When he tries to help...he reacts as though whatever issues I need to talk about are just problems to be solved, pieces of a puzzle to be analyzed..."

"Evidence to be handled objectively and without prejudice," Greg quoted, and they both laughed.

"He's a genius."

"He is," Greg agreed without hesitation. "And what makes him a genius is that he not only knows so much about everything in the universe, including the universe itself, but that his abilities are extraordinary. Grissom can focus on one question until he answers it, one problem until he solves it, one theory until he proves or disproves it, and all the related steps and information that lead to that conclusion."

"That's it," Sara agreed. "It's that focus. It makes him brilliant, but it also makes him...obtuse. That laser-like intensity instantly shifts to the next–whatever he is presented with–a conversation, a suspect, evidence, lab results, whatever."

"Which is why he always intimidates me," Greg told Sara, and she laughed. "I feel like a deer in the headlights around him. Like he is an X-ray machine and can see right into me. Whatever I tell him, I can feel his mind is demanding more. More facts, more conclusions, more of _me_. Judging me, not unkindly, but impatiently, hoping that I will understand as well as he does but knowing I can't...no one can...except you."

Sara snorted. "You think too much of me. I can't match his mind either."

"Huh. Maybe so, maybe not, but you're the closest. Your minds are connected. You challenge him."

"Yes. He's told me that. He's told me that he's aware that there are things I can do that he can't. And I agreed, and told him the same. And one thing is that I _do_ take the feelings of others into consideration. Sometimes, not always, he doesn't."

"You're sensitive. And empathetic. He tells you–he tells me, hell, everyone, that it's a weakness. But it's a strength."

"Sometimes. What I mean, though, is that when Gil's mind leaps to and focuses on that next issue, I feel like I've been forgotten. Dealt with. Whatever I've said or shared has been filed away in that oh-so-retentive memory, it's there, but it's not as important as what's in front of him."

"I know what you mean."

"I don't want to bash the guy. I know he can't, no one can, be perfect. Or be all things to their partner, their lover, their roommate. To be fully present in every aspect of himself. I'm a lot harder to deal with than he is."

"No you're not!"

"Thanks. But I have more...baggage. I'm fucked up."

"Sara. Don't say that. Please. I adore you. I love you as a friend, as a brother, as much as I love anyone...more. I love everything about you, I know you, and you're not fucked up."

"I love you exactly the same, Greg. But I've changed. Spiraled down into darkness. Believe me."

"I always believe you. I believe in you," he said earnestly.

"Thank you. I do too. You've never let me down."

"You haven't either."

"Gil loves me, I know, he always has. Really and truly. Just as I do him."

"You do. He loves you like no other."

"Yes. And he would do anything he can for me."

"Grissom would die for you," Greg said firmly.

"I know he would, and I would die for him too. But he couldn't...can't...save me. He can't be here now, I accept that. There will always be another case to solve, always, and others who need him too. I don't expect him to abandon them for my sake. Physically, yes, he did save me, so did you, so did the whole team, when I was lost. Dying. All of you found me. All of you saved my life. Afterwards...I lost my mind."

"You haven't lost your mind, Sara," he said, troubled and shocked.

"Yes, I have, Greg." she said sadly, and he had no answer. "My thoughts...I can't get into that now, I'm sorry. I needed him more than I've ever needed anyone. Gil couldn't save me this time. That's why I had to go. To save myself."

Greg sighed deeply, aching to help her. "I understand. Not completely, but I understand more why you left. Why you had to go, when and how you did. I wish I could have..."

"I know. You don't need to say it. But like I told Gil, I don't think anyone could have helped me then. I can't do it alone. I have professionals, now, to help me. And I have him. I'll always have him. I have faith in him, in us. He rescued me again, and brought me here, and helped me learn about what's wrong with me. I'm finally done with the evaluations now, and will meet my therapist tomorrow. That's where I am, and what I have to do now."

"And you will get better, Sara, I know you will."

"I hope so. Thank you for listening. And understanding."

"Thank you for telling me. Trusting me. Thank you for...everything. You know if you need me, if you need anything..."

"I do know, Greg. Good night, my dear friend."

"Good night, Sara. I do love you."

"Love you too. Bye, now."

**TBC**

**A/N**: This chapter is dedicated to my mysterious reviewer aninom, who, when I posted the last, read every chapter of Rain and sent me comments on each. One who doesn't share their personal information online, I respect that, but who shares their lovely reviews. Thank you. And to , who did the same, and read almost all my other stories, too. is a gifted smut writer, a guy (gasp! I know!) who told me I inspired him. And that inspired me, and allowed me to mentor and help him too with his work. Check it out. And check out TakingAChanceOnJelly's Who drabbled what? series! They are gems. A complete story in 100 words. I am in awe.


	23. Chapter 23

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

Sara turned over and automatically reached for Gil. Cold bed, cold sheets, no one there. Again. No dog to lick her face and make her laugh. Silence. No padding footsteps, no water running, no coffee brewing, no smiling eyes, no kiss good morning, no deep comforting voice or warm presence to reassure her. _Damn him. Where is he? Where was he all that time?_

And she was more tired than she was when she fell asleep, within seconds of hanging up the phone with Greg.. Sara hadn't even gotten under the covers, and she was curled into a ball to keep warm. Her muscles were cold and tight and painfully protesting from the exertion yesterday. As the hot shower water pounded on her body, Sara replayed her conversation with Greg. She thought of all the words she'd wanted to say, but had restrained them, so she wouldn't corrupt Greg's mind with what she thought of Grissom now. Grissom had let her down so badly and she couldn't even tell her dearest friend. _Just so Greg wouldn't think less of Grissom_. All the years of repressed anger were surfacing. All her restraint was slipping. The dragon was unleashed.

_Damn it anyway. I'm sick of holding all this in. Protecting Gil. Not letting myself feel or speak my mind for his sake._

The anger she was feeling toward Gil could not be contained anymore. Her blood felt hot and her face was tight and her hands kept clenching. Still soaking wet from the shower, Sara grabbed all the towels and the bathrobe and sat on the bed and called his cell. Voice mail. _Of course._

"Grissom. We need to talk."

She tossed the phone to the other pillow Minutes went by and Sara was seething.

Her phone rang and Sara pounced on it.

"Honey? Are you okay?" He sounded groggy.

"No. I'm not _okay_, Grissom." When he paused, processing, Sara became sarcastic.

"Oh, sorry, did I _wake_ you?

"Actually...yes you did. I just..." he looked at the clock, "fell asleep two hours ago."

"Yeah, well, I just woke up too. To an empty bed."

"So did I!" His voice became defensive.

"Whose fault is that?" Sara demanded.

Now he sounded much angrier. "Yours. You left _me,_ remember?"

"Of course I remember. I also remember you didn't stop me." Grissom was still struggling to make his mind clear, and pick up what was going on. So there was another pause and she seized it.

"I kissed you. In the lab. Do you _remember_ that?"

"Of course I do!!"

"I broke the rules. _Your_ rules. No public displays of affection. God forbid anyone should _see_ us. And our secret was already out! Everyone knew we were sleeping together. Hodges knew._ Hodges_ saw me kiss you. And what did you do?"

"I..."

"Nothing. That's what you did, Grissom. You barely kissed me back. You didn't say a word. You didn't even move."

"I was...stunned. I didn't know what to do..."

Sara's voice was biting. "That's right, _you didn't know what to do_...a_bout us._ That's what you said to me all those years ago...and you know I remember every word you ever said. Do you remember the last conversation we ever had in the lab?"

"Not...not really."

"I do. You came in as I was trying to figure out how that tooth ended up backwards in that girl's fist. I told you I had to finish the case. That Hannah was twisting me in circles...and you said, 'Sara. Some cases can get under your skin. Like this tooth. You can't let them make you feel bad.'"

"Okay. That is what I said. I was trying to reach out to you!"

"No. You were telling me what to feel. Again. I feel what I feel, Gil. Right now I feel angry. At you! Why didn't you do anything after I kissed you?!"

"I...the evidence...Hodges..."

"The evidence," she scoffed. "That's what's more important than me. And _Hodges_ was more important to you?"

"NO! Of course not!"

"I walked away. I went to the locker room. I sat there alone and did the hardest thing I ever did in my entire life. I threw away my life, everything. Everything and everyone I've ever loved. You had plenty of time to come and talk to me, to ask me why, to let me tell you why I kissed you, there and then, but you didn't! That was the last straw! You didn't love me enough to find out what was happening to me! You didn't care!"

"I did too! I care! I did...I do love you!"

"YOU DIDN'T TRY TO STOP ME! YOU DIDN'T COME AFTER ME!"

Now his anger and defensiveness was overwhelmed with guilt and his voice reflected it. "Sara. I'm sorry."

"Sorry, nothing. Do something."

"Fine. I'll come after you. I'll take the next flight out."

"Fine." She hung up.

The dial tone was like a reproach. _Fuck. What the hell did I do? What happened since our last conversation? What was our last conversation?_ Grissom struggled to remember. _Hot phone sex. Incredible... satisfying ...we both got off...she seemed fine. And she initiated it. What the fuck?_

Sara threw her sweatpants and shirt and sweatshirt on and did yoga, stretching and bending into all the positions she could think of, but not doing any of the breath work she'd been taught. Her breaths were shallow and short and hard. She knew she should hold those poses longer and slower and repeat them. _I don't care._ Her cell phone bleeped.

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE**

_Of course. He's too scared to talk to me now, now that I'm like this._ Sara pushed the button.

**Southwest Airlines Flight 743, arriving Gate 12, 10:18 a.m.**

_Huh. Don't expect me to pick you up._

Sara typed rapidly.

**Dr. Daphne, 11:45 a.m. SF Mental Health Center waiting room.**

They both snapped their phones shut. _Fine._

Sara was hours early but couldn't stay in her hotel room a minute longer. _I know. I'll wait with all the other crazy people. That's where I belong. Among my ilk._

"My name is Sara Sidle. I have an appointment with my new therapist."

The receptionist looked through her book. "Your appointment isn't until 11:45, Miss Sidle. It's only 7:30."

"I'm aware of that," Sara snapped, not even trying to be polite. _I'm always polite. Fuck it. I don't care._ "I'll wait. Just wanted to check in."

"It says here, you were to meet with Dr. Daphne."

"_Were?_ What do you mean?"

"She's been called away. Family emergency. Mr. Winthrop is filling in."

"Who the hell is Mr. Winthrop?" Sara said, exasperated.

"A med student. Actually an intern. He might be able to see you earlier, though? We're very shorthanded, Miss, with all the veterans..." she gestured to the room, "coming back from Iraq."

"I know that. So this kid is new?"

"Uh, yes. This is...uh, his first day. They say he's very bright..."

"Great." Sara said sarcastically, and walked away.

So she sat on a hard plastic chair under the ugly fluorescent lights. The soldier's faces, greenish or mottled under those lights, were beginning to look familiar. She studied them, though she knew it was rude. Looked at the ones with obvious wounds. One had no legs from the thighs down. She thought about Doc Robbins. Another had no hands, and was totally dependent on an aide, who looked bored. One man's face had been burned, it was clear he had some reconstruction work done, but his eyebrows and nose and lips were gone and his eyes covered. A buddy was sitting close to him and talking softly.

Their wives–no, girlfriends–they were all so terrifyingly young–had dwindled down to two. The veterans that weren't maimed seemed more shaky, literally, with trembling hands, especially the only other girl there. She rocked in her chair and muttered obscenities. One man kept picking at his clothes, his leg jerking uncontrollably. Others were wild-eyed and stared at the walls. All were angry. Full of rage. All were...fucked up. _Like me._

Sara realized her hands were trembling too. She clenched them into fists and looked at her bulging white knuckles. _Could I fight, like they did? I've never killed anyone...but I wanted to, tried to, kill Natalie. When she lurked in the parking garage, when she shot me with that Taser, why didn't I pull my gun on her? _You were ambushed._ Yes, but I'm trained to react instantly, like the cops, like these soldiers and Marines. National Guardsmen. And they all volunteered. They were ambushed too. Blown up by roadside bombs, no doubt, and they couldn't fight back. How do you defeat an enemy you can't see? That you don't know is there? It's been seven years now...with no end in sight. How can we ever win this fucking war? _

_Vietnam fucked up my father. His generation. Iraq and Afghanistan are doing the same to theirs. _

Sara thought about the unspeakable hell they had been through. _How many people did they kill? How many did they see killed, blown to pieces, heads shot off, fighting an enemy who was always somewhere else? _How do you kill, violate that most basic moral code, know that you are killing children and innocent civilians--and keep your mind intact?

Her name was called. Sara glanced at her watch. 9:45 a.m. _Grissom's still in the air._

_And now I get to meet the rookie. He'll have his hands full with me!_

**TBC**

**A/N** Arrgh! The last chapter was also to Rage Edit. There's a period between Rage and Edit, and it keeps getting deleted. And here's that first line again: "Greg listened to the beginning of her story in his usual affectionate and caring way.Sara responded to that emotion, feeling raw, vulnerable, needy." Please don't feel like you have to read this entire story, or shower me with praise, in order to be recognized. It's okay to not like it and tell me why. My ego is getting inflated, and that's not good. Sorry. I had to make myself angry to write this and I'm angry at myself.


	24. Chapter 24

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

Mr. Winthrop was even younger looking than Sara expected. He was all knobby elbows and knees, as tall as she was, with a prominent Adam's apple. Sara examined him like a suspect, noted the unironed suit, the small shaving cut on his cheek, the hair that needed cutting. _He still needs his mommy._

When they shook hands, his was clammy, hers warmer and dry, and he looked very nervous.

"Miss, uh...Sidle?"

"That's right. Call me Sara. What's your first name?"

"Doug." She gave a short nod.

"So sorry your...Dr. Daphne...isn't here."

"Not your fault, Doug."

He wiped his hands on his pants and cleared his throat and went behind the desk. Doug

laid the thick file marked **Sidle, Sara,** on the surface, sat, and opened it. Sara kept standing, watching him. He was engrossed for a while but felt her eyes.

"Please. Have a seat. I just need to familiarize myself..."

Sara took the hardest, most uncomfortable-looking chair, and deliberately brought it very close to the other side of the desk, directly across from Doug. _If he's going to interrogate me, I might as well assume the position_. She smiled grimly.

Doug took that smile as encouragement. "You're very pretty, Sara."

"Not on the inside." His eyes widened.

Sara started reading her own file upside-down. It was just her medical history. Winthrop turned a page, then another, engrossed again. Personal file. Name, address, age, weight, height, profession, contact information, background, education...page after page. Sara realized she could read it faster upside-down than he could right-side up, and chuckled. He finally noticed what she was doing and covered it up awkwardly.

"Says here you're a CSI. In Las Vegas. Like that TV show?"

"I don't have time to watch television."

"Oh! Of course, neither do I, med school and all, that's why I can read and not notice someone's staring at me...good concentration." He looked smug. "I've seen it a few times, that's all. You know you shouldn't read your own medical file..."

"Why not?"

"Um, patient confidentiality..."

"I'm the patient. You're a stranger. Those files are about me, my history, my health, my mental status. Whose confidentiality is being violated here?"

"I didn't mean...okay, that was a stupid thing to say. I'm new."

"Yeah. They told me this was your first day."

"That's right. We all have to start somewhere, right?"

"Right." She softened, just a little, thinking of her own first day as a CSI in San Francisco. _They ignored me. All of them. I kept getting lost in all those hallways. My seam split and I had to go to the locker room and change, so I was late for the briefing. Robert said something and they all laughed. I blushed beet red...and then Joan...offered me a seat and patted my hand. "It gets better," she said in my ear, and smiled. And it was...until Weiser came in and leered at me._ "You're very pretty, Sara." _Just like this kid._ Men! Always getting hot and bothered around me, panting like horny dogs...Do I have to wear a bag on my head? So they won't just see me as someone to fuck?

Her face hardened again and she picked a pen out a cup and started tapping it on the desk.

Winthrop got the message. He pulled a red folder out and took out a multi-page blank form.

"Let's get started then." Sweat beaded at his temple under her unwavering look.

He read off the first question. "Are you trained in the use of a weapon in your job?"

"Yes. I've received intensive training both in weapon and weaponless defense and have always passed my qualifying tests at the gun range. I'm a good shot."

There was a pause between questions as he wrote her exact words. "And you carry your gun with you on the job?"

"Regularly."

"Do you bring it home?"

"I have a secure locker at the lab, and a locked gun case at home. I am allowed to bring it home. Sometimes I just do. Sometimes I forget to lock it up at the end of a shift, or a double, or a triple...and don't feel like going all the way back to lock it up, so I bring it home with me. Sometimes I'm just so damn tired I don't notice it's still on my hip. Sometimes I like a little extra...peace of mind. Especially when I was living alone."

His brows knit but he was clearly too nervous to ask a followup question. There was a long pause with only the scratching of pen on paper.

"Have you ever had to draw your weapon on a suspect?"

"Yes."

"Ever fired it?"

"Only at targets. Knock wood." Sara smiled wanly.

"Have you ever been tempted to turn your gun on yourself?"

Long silence. The intern cleared his throat, glanced at Sara, and turned a page. The rustling of paper sounded loud in the quiet room.

"Do you drink alcohol?"

"Yes."

"To excess?"

"Many times."

"Ever had a blackout?"

"Yes."

"Ever gotten the shakes?"

"No."

Doug droned on. "Ever tried to quit, but found the temptation or desire too great?"

"Yes."

"Are you around other heavy drinkers on a regular basis?"

"Huh. I live in Vegas. I'm around every vice known to man on a regular basis," Sara said sarcastically.

"Ever had trouble with the law as a result of your drinking?"

"Yes. I was pulled over with a DUI but only had to undergo counseling, not termination of my job or fines or lose my license."

"Ever sought treatment specifically for your alcoholism?"

"I just told you...No."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't want to."

Another uneasy silence.

"Do you have a family history of alcoholism?"

"Yes, both parents."

"Are you an alcoholic, Ms. Sidle?"

"Yes. I am." His eyes flicked up to her and then hastily away.

Winthrop turned another page. "Do you use illegal or street drugs?"

"No, just a long time ago, as part of the usual teenage experimental phase of life, but no, not in many many years."

"What did you use?"

"Smoked some pot. Did a little cocaine. Some pills–I don't even remember which ones."

"Do you use prescription drugs?"

"No, I've tried sleeping pills, pain pills, sedatives, but I can't use them and function in my job, or they had nasty side effects."

"Are you on any prescriptions now?"

"I just told you..." Sara was exasperated, but took a breath and answered him in his same mechanical way. "No, Mr. Winthrop, I'm not on any prescribed medications now."

"Have you ever abused prescription drugs?"

"Probably."

He gave her an odd look but decided to just write it down. Taking a breath, he continued reading off his form.

"Have you ever thought about suicide?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether I've just been kidnapped, or raped, or been thrown down the stairs or out of a speeding car, or just finished processing another murdered child or torture victim, or just had my jaw or my ribs broken again by my father's fist or boots, or been Tasered, or been shuffled off to yet another foster home, whether I've just watched a co-worker suffocating in a coffin, you know, the usual shit..."

Doug stared at her, slack-jawed. He was too stunned to write.

"Uh." He looked back at his form and read from it in a flat voice. "Have you ever formulated a plan for suicide?"

"Yes."

"Ever tried?"

"No, but I'm tempted to now, if it would get you to shut the hell up," she glared at him.

"Are you always this hostile?"

"Only with suspects and scumbags." He glared back at her and his spine stiffened.

"Let's try again, Sara. I'm not...Have you ever planned your own suicide?"

"No, just homicides."

"_Homicides?_ You've planned murders?"

"Right now I've got a doozy. Starring you."

"Will you, uh, excuse me a moment?"

"Sit down. I'm kidding. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Yeah." Another stare-down. He looked scared, but plowed on.

"Are you feeling suicidal now?"

"Say my name fast."

"What?"

"Say. My. Name. Fast."

"Sarasidle sarassuidle suassudal..."

"Suicidal. Get it?" Sara asked sarcastically.

"Oh. Ha ha. Very good," the intern said nervously.

"No it's not, jerk, they used to chant that at me every day at recess. Sara Sidle, Suicidal, Sara Sidle, Suicidal..."

"I see."

"No you don't. I bet you were bullied too. You look like you still are. But did anyone call you names because you watched your mother stab your father to death?"

"Uh."

"Of course not. So if you ask whether I've considered suicide, yes, but I've considered lots of things. Right now I'm considering walking out that door. Yup. I've decided." Sara stalked out and slammed the door.

"Sara?" called Grissom anxiously, jumping up and starting toward her.

"I'm leaving."

"Sara! Wait!" He tried to grab her arm.

"Don't touch me!"

"Okay! I won't! What's...?"

"Don't ask me any questions. Not a single one. Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I've fucking had it! Same fucking questions day after day, hour after hour!"

He hurried after her, out to the street, up the sidewalk.

"I...understand," Grissom was short of breath from trying to keep up with those long legs.

Sara spun around. "Don't be all understanding and noble on me now!"

"I...wait, please! Calm down!"

"Argue with me! Fight! Be a man!"

Grissom blanched. "Don't..."

"Don't what? Feel? Get mad? Stop being the nice girl?"

"STOP IT..."

"Stop what? Embarrassing you? Making a scene? Acting like Crazy Sara?"

"SARA!"

"What!! Just say it for once! Or do something!!"

"I did! I'm here, dammit!" He shook his head and walked away, toward the MHC.

"Yeah. Typical. Walk away. Coward,"she spat.

Sara followed him, still yelling and taunting. The more impassive his face, the tighter his jaw-- the louder and more abusive she became. The more he turned away, avoided her, shielded himself from her--the closer she brought her face in, yelling right into it, nose to nose, eyeball to eyeball, spraying his cheeks with spit.

"Go ahead. Hit me."

"WHAT!"

"Hit me. You know you want to."

"I do not!!"

"HIT ME!! Right here. Pop me one. Go ahead."

"NO!"

"C' mon. I won't hit you back if that's what you're scared of, _Gilbert_. You know you want to."

"NO I DON'T!!"

"Sure you do. Every man wants to smack a woman across the chops at least once in his miserable shitty life. Do it. Hit me. Get it over with!!"

"Sara. I would never, ever, hit you. Under any circumstances."

"No. You prefer the silent treatment. Clam up, shut down. Emotional abuse, not physical. Making me feel like shit, that's more your style."

Grissom flushed with shame, then anger.

He stammered and then spat out, "Congratulations."

"What?"

"You got me all figured out."

"Big deal."

A security guard approached.

"Miss..."

"Fuck off."

"Miss, if you don't calm down..."

"Get lost. Take a hike, you jumped up rent-a-cop..."

The guard moved to grab her arm and she nimbly escaped him. He tried again.

"Can't catch me! Ha! Go away. I'm having a fight with my _boy-friend_," she jeered at them both.

"Sir?"

"She's right. Don't argue."

"But..."

"We're both law enforcement. Please. Just go."

"She needs to..."

"She needs to vent. She's been through hell! Get going."

The security guard moved away, but they both clearly saw and heard he was calling for backup. Sara turned and sprinted away, yelling and jeering and laughing crazily. Grissom could hear her well out of sight.

Grissom sat straight down on the sidewalk and buried his face in his hands.

**TBC**


	25. Chapter 25

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

Grissom remained seated on the sidewalk for a long time.

_What she said. That hurt._ What, your pride?

_Partly._ _But... _Your self worth? Manhood?

_Uh, yeah._ So? And?

'Crazy people do make me feel crazy.' How can I reach her, when she's like this? _I don't want to lose her. Maybe I already did._

Don't give up. We've been through so much. Our love is strong. _How many times can I say 'I love you'? _

As many times as possible. _She knows._ You have a lot to make up for.

_How much of this is my fault? We're partners. Equals, in every way, but physiological. Emotional. Women!_ That's a copout and you know it.

_Yeah but...Why didn't I see this coming._ I should have.

_I thought I had changed. Do I still treat her like shit?_ We have to talk. I have to explain!

_Explain...when she's irrational...not gonna work._

How can I help her? _Don't know. Have to think._

Is she frightened–of me? Think I could ever hit her? _Maybe it's all men. All the men who've ever hurt her._ Took it out on you.

_What the hell did they do to her in there?_ Why weren't you with her?

"Can't be two places at one time," Grissom muttered to himself. _Right. Choose._

Does Sara really hate me? Maybe at this moment. _She does still love you. Think about her now. Not yourself. Keep trying._

One part of his brain registered that passersby were walking around him, maneuvering around his huddled form like he was so much trash. _An interesting anthropological observation_, it said. _Like that study, when college students dressed in rags and sat on the street and were instantly and guiltily ignored by everyone._

_Remember those homeless people, just off the Strip? And Cassie James?_

'I've got a gal named Sara, and she would just _love_ that scarf.'

_I've got a gal named Sara._

_Do I?_

'You never know what you need until you find it.'

_I found...and lost...her._

He heard the siren approach but made no effort to get up until an authoritative voice spoke.

"Sir? We had a complaint--"

"Yes, officer," Grissom said, awkwardly getting to his feet. A burly black cop, his hips weighed down with every part of the arsenal that city police carry–handgun, nightstick, handcuffs, spare bullets, pepper spray--stood before him. He wore a flak jacket and a shiny badge and a radio on his shoulder. His squad car was parked at the curb, lights still flashing. The police officer's hand rested on the holster of his gun.

"Officer...Smith," Grissom began humbly, peering at his nametag. "I apologize for the disturbance. My name is Gil Grissom and I work for the LVPD Crime Lab." He offered his identification. Officer Smith took it and examined it closely and his demeanor shifted slightly.

"Mr. Grissom. I need to fill out a report. Charges may be filed. But the security guard tells me it was the young lady who was abusive and evaded arrest. Where is she?"

"She...her name is Sara Sidle and she is a colleague at CSI. As well as my girlfriend. Sara...ran off. I don't know where she is," Grissom admitted.

"So this was a domestic altercation?"

"Yes. Ms. Sidle is undergoing treatment for post traumatic stress disorder at this facility," Grissom said, gesturing at the building beside them. "She has been through every sort of hell you can imagine and some that you can't. This...outburst...today was an extreme reaction. One that I have never seen before. Her sessions are forcing her to relive some painful memories and serious trauma. That she took it out on me..."

"Could be understandable, I suppose." The cop sighed. "Listen, I hate to do this but we need to take a statement..." Officer Smith's partner approached. His name tag read Morely. He gestured at Grissom and spoke to Smith only.

"This him?"

"Yeah. His girlfriend."

"188, 217, Fifth and Market." _Assault in progress. Disturbing the peace_, Grissom interpreted to himself. _Is it Sara?_

"A female?" Smith asked Morely.

"Yup. Sounds like a real firecracker." The cops snickered. Grissom held his tongue and worried for her safety.

"411?" _Location._ Morely rattled off an address.

Officer Morely finally addressed him. "What's your name, sir?"

"Dr. Gil Grissom. I'm with the LVPD."

"LVPD? You a coroner?"

"No, an entomologist." The cops just looked at him. "I study insects."

"Bug doctor, huh? That should come in handy...your girlfriend is bugging out." Morely and Smith chuckled. "You need to come with us."

"Please. Can you help me find Sara first?"

"That's the plan, _doctor," _he said sarcastically. "Which way did she go?"

A cartoon voice echoed in his head. _She went that-a-way. _Grissom resisted the urge to joke and release some of the tension in his chest. "East." _I think.._ "Toward, uh, Candlestick Park."

"Can you describe this...?"

"Sara Sidle." _Oh, dear God. Sara's going to be arrested. Or get hurt._ "Caucasian, 35, five foot nine, slender, 110 pounds, brown shoulder length hair, brown eyes..." Gil rattled off. _As if that description does her justice..._

"Wearing?"

"Uh. Black sweatpants, pale-brown long sleeved shirt with embroidery in a floral pattern down the front, sneakers..."

"Matches the description. Let's go."

Grissom let himself be led to the squad car and placed, hand on his head, in the back seat. Grissom's eyes narrowed, but he knew better than to ask any questions in his position. Instead, he, briefly, stared numbly through the vented bulletproof glass at the cops driving him. _Well. This is a new experience. Seeing the other side, _he thought, his scientific brain continuing to process and analyze everything. His eyes scanned the sidewalks and streets and looked in every face.

"Do you see her?" the driver barked. Grissom flinched and looked at him in the rearview mirror.

"No." _I would tell you if I did! _"Not yet." _Cooperate. And this will work out._ The car made another turn, expanding the search area in a concentric pattern. Minutes passed in silence. Their radio crackled to life. Gil struggled and failed to hear the muffled exchange of instructions.

Officer Smith slid back the panel. "Mr. Grissom, we're going to have to drop you at the precinct. We have another call." The pane of bulletproof glass slid back before he could respond. His objection was lost in the roar of acceleration and the siren.

Smith hurried him into the police station. A desk sergeant regarded him cooly.

"This is the 188 from the nuthouse." He tilted his head and said with his expression, _Keep an eye on him_. The sergeant nodded and Officer Smith rushed out.

"Name?"

"Gil Grissom. Supervisor of the CSI Night Shift, LVPD."

"CSI, huh. You're not police."

"No. A scientist."

"Yeah, I know what CSIs are."

"Of course you do, Sergeant...O'Keefe." _Sounds like you don't respect them, either. Like Fromansky. Shit. Just my luck._

"Who's the girl?"

"CSI Level 3 Sara Sidle."

"What happened?"

_God, this is complicated._ Grissom explained in clinical detail, not trying anymore to gain this world-weary cop's sympathy. There was a silence as Sgt. O'Keefe typed in the information in the computer.

Grissom broke the silence, his voice cracking. "Listen. I'm worried about Sara. I need to find her! And soon!"

"Any ideas on how to do that?" the sergeant said drily.

"Cell phone!" _Why can't I think straight?_ Grissom whipped his out and tried. A mechanical voice said, 'The number you have reached is not accepting...' and he disconnected. O'Keefe folded his arms and watched. _Think, Gilbert. Text message._

**New Message**. Grissom's fingers were shaking as he tapped the little keys.

**sara where r u?**

No answer. **scared** **please honey where r u**

Another wait. It seemed endless. Grissom counted to a hundred. At last it bleeped.

**New Message. **

**gris**

**yes sara r u ok**

**r u mad at me**

**no**! **want to find you**

**lost**

**is there street sign**

**idk where i am**

Grissom waited. _Stay with me, honey._ _Focus_.

**cops here**

**will find you...wait**

**cant**

**don't run don't fight**

**Message Sent To Inbox**. _Dammit._

"They're arresting her right now! Where is she?"

O'Keefe made a call and told him an address.

"Tell them not to hurt her! She needs help...not restraint..."

O'Keefe just nodded. "You're free to go."

Grissom jumped into a taxi and slammed the door.

**TBC**


	26. Chapter 26

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

Before the taxi had gone two blocks, Grissom spotted a squad car heading into the station. Its lights were flashing but the siren was off. Grissom peered into the dimness of the backseat. There was Sara.

"Stop! Turn around!" he shouted to the driver. "Follow that police car."

The driver complied, turning into a driveway and backing out. Grissom threw some cash in his direction and jumped out as the cab was still moving, stumbling but staying on his feet.

Sara was being roughly pulled out, struggling and screaming. Her face was white, grimacing with fear, dirty, tear-streaked. Her blouse was torn and a cup of her white bra and bra strap were visible.

"NO! Let me go! PLEASE NO!" over and over.

"Shut up, lady. I've had enough!" The cop looked angry and disheveled. He gripped her by the arm and half-pushed, half-dragged her.

"Wait! Stop!" Grissom bellowed, running toward them. The police just saw a strange man barreling at them and moved to intercept. A second cop barred his way, a thick arm across his chest. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

_No time to explain._ Sara was being pulled toward the entrance.

"SARA!"

"GRISSOM! Help me!"

"SARA! Don't fight! I'll help you!" Everyone was yelling. There was a scrum of people pushing and grabbing each other, arms flailing. No one was listening.

The cop swung the glass door open and thrust her inside. The door slid shut behind them.

Grissom was still firmly in the grasp of the uniform.

"So, you know this nutcase? How?"

"I work with her!!" Gris yelled desperately. "Don't put her in a cell! Let me talk to her!"

"You better come inside too, buddy." Grissom's elbows were grasped and he was pushed inside to the same waiting room, still grappling.

"You don't understand!"

"Calm down."

"Let me explain, damn it."

"Sir, if you don't stop...Now wait here." Grissom was pushed toward a seat. Three people stood in line at the desk sergeant's counter. He could hear Sara's diminishing cries down the hallway. A yell of pain, and then...silence.

Grissom shoved his way through the small crowd, yelling, "What have you done with her? Where is she?"

"Name?" Sgt. O'Keefe said deliberately, smirking, pretending to have never seen him before.

Grissom clenched his hands and thrust them in his pockets to stop himself from strangling this oaf.

"You know who I am! Where's Sara?"

"Who?"

"The woman that was just brought in..."

"Why don't you have a seat. We'll get to you..." O'Keefe gestured and waved over another man.

Gris was just about to explode. A tug on his sleeve diverted his attention.

"Mister?"

Grissom looked down. A small boy, his skin the color of chocolate milk, with hair shaved so close to his head that it emphasized the near-perfect roundness of his skull.

"Mister?" the boy said again. "You're bleeding."

"I...am?"

"Your mouth?"

"Take the gentleman to the men's room, Franklin," said a large dark-skinned woman sitting in a plastic chair with a bag at her feet.

'Yes'm." Franklin took his hand without another word. Grissom, dazed, let himself be led away, realizing that he was in danger of being arrested himself. He examined himself in the mirror, and began to understand what the police saw. He looked like a madman. He barely remembered the elbow to the mouth that bloodied his lip, but the blood had smeared across his cheek, his hair was mussed, clothing rumpled, dirty, and smelly. Franklin perched on a sink and watched as Gris stripped to the waist, washed and dried his chest and armpits with a paper towel, washed the blood from his face, stopped the bleeding with a bit of toilet paper, and wet down his hair. He didn't ask any questions, and for that Grissom was grateful. The boy told him about his grandmother and that his mom was in trouble and they were here to visit her. Grissom threw away his undershirt and smiled at the boy.

"Better?"

"Much better," the boy grinned.

They returned to the waiting room.

The grandmother patted the seat next to her and Gil sat down.

"It don't do no good to yell at the cops," she told him.

"You're right, ma'am. Thank you. Your grandson is a fine boy. Very polite."

"He is," she said proudly. "I think manners are important."

"Very important. I'm Gil."

"Martha." They shook hands. "Now if you're looking for good manners in this place, you won't find them." They chuckled. "All a body can do is be patient and courteous and eventually they will treat you the same."

"Do unto others."

"Exactly." Martha smiled in satisfaction. They sat quietly, neither asking difficult questions of the other. It was deeply painful to have had to reveal so much of his private life to these men, only to be met with indifference and sarcasm. _If Sara's arrested...she can never work in law enforcement again. If I'm arrested, the same, and then we're both trapped here._ Grissom felt his mind calm and blood pressure drop with the chance to rethink his situation. Martha and Franklin were called and he thanked them sincerely.

"We didn't do anything," she protested.

"You did. Believe me. I wish you the best with your troubles."

"And you with yours."

"Next."

"I'm Dr. Gil Grissom of the LVPD Crime Lab." He struggled to keep his voice steady. "That is CSI 3 Sara Sidle."

"You're a long way from home, Dr."

"I demand professional courtesy. If Captain Jim Brass were here, he would never allow such treatment of fellow law enforcement..." _Brass!_

Grissom pulled out his cell phone and walked to a quiet corner.

"Jim! Thank God. I need your help."

"What's wrong, Gil?"

"Sara's been arrested."

Brass was shocked. "What!"

"She had some sort of breakdown. She called me and was angry, nearly incoherent...I flew out this morning and she confronted me outside the mental health center," Gil explained in a rush. "She was enraged, yelling, I've never seen her like this before...a security guard tried to stop her and she ran off. Then the SFPD showed up...drove me around but they got another call. I texted Sara and she said the cops were there, before I could find her they brought her in. She's scared, screaming...they separated us...won't tell me anything..."

"Don't worry, I'll get this sorted out. I'll call the top dog and work my way down. Or I'll fly out myself and kick some ass."

"Thanks..."

"Hey...don't thank me yet...you owe me, Gil."

"I do."

"I'll call you back."

**TBC**


	27. Chapter 27

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

"Sergeant. For the last time. Is Sara Sidle all right?" Grissom was gritting his teeth in the effort to remain calm.

"I couldn't say." O'Keefe opened a folder.

"Where. Is. She." A memory flashed in his mind. _Stop it!!_ _Tell me where Sara is!! _

"We're very busy. Have a seat. Someone will be with you soon." _Just you wait, you bastard._

An obese white man with greasy hair walked in and greeted the desk sergeant.

"Hey, O'Keefe."

"Johnny," he said, briefly glancing up from the computer monitor.

"I heard Sara Sidle's been brought in."

"You know her?"

"Sure."

"Ask her boyfriend over there," the police sergeant said indifferently, waving in Grissom's direction. They met halfway and eyed each other.

"You know Sara?"

"Of course. We were CSIs together. Pretty young thing, smart as a whip. Who are you?"

"Gil Grissom."

"_The_ Gil Grissom? Las Vegas's finest? Entomologist?"

"That's right," Grissom said, glad and relieved that at last that someone knew them. "What's your name?"

"John Weiser." They shook hands. "Hey. Aren't you...the one...who hired Sara away from us?"

"That's right."

"So you're her..."

"Supervisor."

"And boyfriend?"

"Yes," Grissom sighed. "We live together."

"So that's why..." Weiser thought for a minute. "Uh, I just gave Sara a ride the other day, from some Greek bistro back to her hotel. She said she was on vacation."

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Sounds like it, if she's been arrested," CSI Weiser said.

"Sara was kidnapped by the Miniature Killer."

Weiser looked confused. "I'm sorry, who?"

Grissom said, "A serial killer. Psychopath. Sara was trapped under a car in the desert and left to die. We found her, just in time. Her arm was broken in two places...they put a cast on it and treated her for dehydration and shock and kept her overnight. Sara...she wanted to go right back to work. Our boss insisted...I should have," Grissom bit his lip and looked away momentarily. "Our relationship was revealed and she had to move to swing shift. I don't know how much you know about her background..."

"She was always very private...but I think she was a foster kid?"

"Yes. She came from an abusive family...she's had a rough life...and has survived and overcome so much..."

Weiser nodded thoughtfully, absorbed in the story and letting him speak.

"This last trauma, it was too much. For anyone. And without our team, on separate shifts...we barely saw each other...she was falling apart and I didn't see it. Burning out. So one night, she just left. Flew to California. I found her staying at a beach house, lying out in the rain..." Grissom shook his head, struggling to go on. "There were nightmares. She was...is...in bad shape. A breakdown. Post-traumatic stress disorder. She's just starting treatment...I took her to SF MHC...and today, well, all that anger, all the times she's been a victim and couldn't fight back...she blew up...we got into a fight and then she ran off...got into more trouble, I don't know. She was fighting with the cops when they brought her in. They won't tell me where she is or what's going on."

"That's an outrage, sir. That's just wrong. Let me talk to...oh, here she is now."

A tall middle-aged woman in a suit strode in. All the policemen in the room straightened up and eyed her nervously as she glared at them in turn. Tough, no-nonsense. Grissom was instantly reassured.

She spotted John Weiser and immediately greeted him, excused herself and talked to him in a low voice for a some minutes about Sara. Then she turned to Grissom.

"You must be Dr. Grissom." They shook hands. Her hand was bony but her grip was powerful. "Sheriff Preston. I owe you an apology."

"Where's Sara Sidle?"

"O'Keefe!" she barked. "Get over here. Where's Ms. Sidle?"

"Jackson!" O'Keefe yelled at his junior officer. "Where'd they take Sara Sidle?"

"She's been sedated. I think they took her to the quiet room."

"Is she injured?" Sheriff Preston demanded.

"Not that...no ma'am."

"Who were the arresting officers?"

"Morely and Smith."

"Get them here. Now. Jackson, Blair, did you have any part in this?"

"We, uh, restrained...him," Officer Jackson said, gesturing at Grissom.

They waited a few minutes, Sheriff Preston seething and the most impatient.

Weiser took Grissom aside.

"Mr. Grissom, you're in good hands, I'm sure. Um, I need to...apologize...to Sara. When I gave her a ride...I made a pass at her."

"And she turned you down."

"Forcefully." They chuckled a little.

"So, I mean to say, she's a great gal...I'm happy she...you and her..."

"That's all right."

"Just tell her, no hard feelings, okay?"

"Sure."

The two other officers arrived. "Come with me," the sheriff ordered. "O'Keefe, Smith, Morely, Jackson, Blair. All of you. Mr. Grissom, this way please."

The five policemen, CSI Weiser, Gil Grissom, and Sheriff Preston crowded into a conference room. Sheriff Preston took charge.

"I've just gotten off the phone with Detective Captain Jim Brass of the Las Vegas PD. He chewed me out and I can understand why. CSI Sidle worked in this crime lab–what was it, John?"

"Eleven years ago."

"Tell us about her?"

"She was the most dedicated and talented CSI I've ever seen," Weiser said honestly. "She advanced a grade a year. An exceptional record."

"That's right. And this gentleman, who you have all disrespected, and some manhandled, is the supervisor who handpicked her to work at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. The top lab in the US, other than the Feds. He is well-respected...renowned, even...and CSI Sidle is one of the top criminalists in the entire country."

There were murmurs of surprise.

"O'Keefe. I understand you have some issues with CSIs."

"Bunch of science geeks," he muttered.

"No, sergeant, they are _crime scene investigators_. They have to examine the bodies and gather the evidence and put the case together. Without CSIs, we wouldn't get convictions. Just a fraction, anyway. And they take the same risks we do. Get it?"

"Yes, sheriff."

"So. Today. There was a callout. The original incident happened where? Morely?"

"Outside the Mental Health Center," his voice was low.

"How many callouts do we get from there?"

"One or two a week," Smith said.

"And who are the people who use that facility?" Preston said sarcastically.

"Nutjobs..." Sheriff Preston banged the conference table, making some of them jump.

"Morely, you're an idiot. Veterans. Heroes. That's who. Those who have served our country and gone to war and are still paying the price of seeing and experiencing horrors beyond words. Uniforms. Like us. How many of our brothers and sisters in uniform have burned out, doing what we do? Killed themselves, even?"

A few names were muttered.

"That's right. We all deal with post-traumatic stress disorder. And now a brave CSI, as brave as those warriors, who has served this city and the people of Las Vegas for eleven brilliant years, seeks treatment for PTSD after repeated trauma, a kidnapping, and burnout. And what happens?"

Silence.

"She is chased all over the neighborhood like a stray dog. Captured, roughed up, dragged into the station, and sedated. Smith? What do you have to say? What did CSI Sidle do to warrant this?"

"She was making a scene. Yelling and cursing..."

"Is that all?"

"Accosting some civilians. Verbally assaulting some construction workers..."

"Boo hoo for the boys in the hardhats. What are the charges against her?"

"Disturbing the peace."

"That's a bullshit charge and you know it. What else?"

"Resisting arrest."

"Don't you think someone who has been kidnapped and stuffed into a trunk a few weeks ago would not take kindly to restraint? What else? Jackson?"

"Assault of a police officer."

"During said restraint and arrest. Was this young lady a threat to your safety? Were you beat up by a girl? Are you injured?"

"No, Sheriff."

"Here's what's going to happen. These two individuals are fellow law enforcement. All charges are going to be dropped, now. But not because of professional courtesy or preferential treatment. If any of you were visiting Las Vegas and committed a crime, a real crime, I would expect LVPD not to look the other way. The bigger issue is the treatment of those with mental health issues. Sooner or later, some of you may burn out too. This whole department is going get some sensitivity training. The five of you are going to be disciplined. I'll let your captain decide the severity. We need to understand better what's going on when someone is _making a scene_. Use of force is not always warranted. People get hurt...when they need help the most. You should know better. Jesus, you make me sick. Get out of here before I change my mind and fire you all. But first, apologize to Dr. Grissom.."

One by one, the men filed past Grissom, offering apologies, some muttered, some sincere.

Grissom made no response, just tried to look each one in the face. None of them met his eyes.

"Thank you, Sheriff. That was very well said. I'm impressed."

"Don't mention it. I'm very sorry we all had to go through this. I apologize on behalf of the entire SFPD. Now, let me take you to see Sara," she said briskly.

**TBC**


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. The muse took a vacation. Thanks to all of you that are willing to pick up the thread of this long-neglected tale. Grace me with a review? Big thanks to JellyBeanChiChi for her advice and guidance. Sorry I over-shared.

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

Sara was a huddled form on a couch in the dim room. Curled up, her face down, hugging her knees. Grissom approached with trepidation. At the sound of his footsteps she raised her head and seemed to struggle to focus on his face. Her head lolled to one side and the skin between her eyes pinched in concentration.

Grissom studied her. Sara just looked at him blankly. She had on a standard issue prison orange top, too big for her. Her arms looked abnormally thin in the sleeves. Sara's face was still streaked with dirt and she looked so young, so very young. There were the beginnings of bruises on her upper arms and wrists, bloody scratches on her hands and knuckles, and her eyes were puffy and red, Grissom noticed. He stepped closer and waited for some response, feeling at a loss. After a long minute, Sara mutely stretched out a long thin arm and touched his face experimentally.

Grissom released a breath. The strength seemed to leave his legs and he sank to his knees and laid his head in her lap. Sara stretched out her legs, leaned forward, and stroked his face and beard gently.

After some minutes he moved to her side on the couch and took her hand in both of his. They looked into each other's eyes mutely, communicating in the way only they could. _Are you OK?_ _Yes._ _You? Better, now._ Gil pulled her hand up and ran a finger lightly over the scratches. _Does this hurt? Not really. _Slowly, he traced the finger-shaped bruises on her wrists and biceps. Sara gently touched the bloody side of his mouth. _I'm so sorry_. _I hate to see you hurt._ Her eyes suddenly welled with tears and she threw her arms around his neck and cried into the crook of his neck. Gil gripped her tightly and hiccuped, feeling the prickling of his own tears. They rocked together, eyes squeezed shut and holding each other, as if unable to get close enough.

Sara's quiet sobs gradually subsided and she sniffed loudly and pulled away a little, looking down. Grissom tipped her head up to look and stroked the tears away with his thumbs. Sara gave him a tiny brave smile, and his eyes smiled back. He tilted his head a bit and said with his expression, _Let's get out of here._ Her eyebrows went up. _We can go?_ A small nod, reassurance in his eyes, and they got to their feet. Sara wavered a little, staggered, and Grissom gripped her firmly around the waist.

Sheriff Preston watched discreetly from the doorway, unable to tear herself away. The love, the bond, between these two...how they reconnected without a word being spoken, how they examined each other so tenderly...never had she seen the like. Her eyes softened. As they got to their feet she hurried away.

In the hallway Sara finally spoke, her voice small and thick. "I'm a...little...dopey."

"Lean on me," he said quietly.

They made their way down the hallways clinging to each other and ignoring everyone but each other. The couple pushed through the exit and both drew a deep grateful breath of fresh air.

"I'm...so sorry, Gil."

"I know, dear. Let's talk...later, okay?"

Sara gripped him around his waist and let him lead, his arm around her shoulders. They made their way slowly past the parked police cars and up the street. Grissom paused to get his bearings, stroked her back and kissed her on the side of the head. They walked the few blocks to the foyer of their hotel.

"Do you have your room key, honey?"

"Uh. No. I don't know what I did with it," Sara answered after a beat.

Grissom gave a short nod and went to the front desk.

"Room twenty-one," he said tiredly.

The desk clerk looked up from his computer and his face blanched and showed alarm when he recognized Sara.

"Oh! It's you again, Miss Sidle," he said nervously. "I'm afraid you can't stay here...Sir..."

"What's the problem?"

The clerk explained that Sara had burst in earlier, yelling and carrying on and scaring the other guests (and him, though he did not say that) and, well, she couldn't stay there any more.

"I'm not going to cause any more trouble."

"We just need to rest," Grissom added. "Take a shower."

"We need the room, sir," the clerk said, trying to sound firm.

"We have paid for our stay through..." Grissom struggled to think. _God I'm tired._

"We'll be happy to refund your money, but I'm afraid I must insist..."

"We'll be gone by checkout time tomorrow. I won't even leave the room," Sara said, recognizing her partner's fatigue.

"No, I can't allow..." He kept staring at her prison-issue shirt, fidgeting.

"Give us a wakeup call and you'll never see us again. Just give me the key. I don't want to argue." Grissom fixed him with a steady look and finally, reluctantly, the man handed it over.

Grissom crossed the hotel room and turned the shower on. He held his hand out and Sara joined him. They shed their clothes by unspoken agreement and stepped inside. Grissom wet a washcloth and cleaned the dirt from her face, then made his way down her arms and hands and body. Sara soaped up her hands and washed him too. They shampooed each other's hair. It wasn't sexual. The desire to wash away the day, scrub what they had done and said and seen and experienced on this nightmare of a day, without waiting another minute, was all they wanted. After toweling off and changing, Gil stretched out on the bed and sighed. Sara curled against his side, a hand on his chest, her head on his shoulder.

"What happens now?" she asked timidly.

"We sleep."

"And when we wake up?" her voice was shaky.

"We'll talk."

They slept.

Five hours later, Sara stirred. Neither had moved. She cautiously disengaged herself and visited the bathroom. Gil's light blue eyes regarded her on her return to bed.

"Hey," he said. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thanks. Uh, Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you...very angry with me?"

He moved over and patted the bed and Sara lay back down at his side.

"No. Not angry, really..."

"But?"

"Trying to...process. Be patient? You know I'm not as quick-witted as you."

She waited with a tiny smile.

"I'm shocked. Concerned. Drained. I feel exposed. Raw. Don't ever do that again, Sara," his voice was steady, not harsh.

"I won't," she said quickly.

He nodded, studying the ceiling. "I was...expecting some sort of...outburst."

"You were?" she said with surprise.

"Yes. All the research I've been doing said that episodes of violent anger and irrational rage are to be expected with PTSD. I just wasn't expecting...to be the recipient." Grissom glanced at her and then away. "But, really, who else can be the focus of all that bottled rage? Your parents?" Sara sat up on her elbow and shook her head. "Your foster parents? The kids that taunted you? That...rapist? The boyfriends...who betrayed you?" He mirrored her position so he could look her in the eyes.

"No."

"Anyone who ever hurt you, physically or emotionally? Natalie Davis?"

"They are all..."

"Gone. Out of reach, out of your life."

"Yeah," Sara said with growing understanding.

"I'm still here."

"You are? Uh, you're not going to...break it off?" her voice was full of fear.

"Oh, no, honey. Not a chance. I mate for life," Grissom said warmly.

"Good," she smiled, searching his eyes.

"So I'm...safe...to vent to. And you don't lose your temper, or even let yourself get angry."

"Neither do you."

"True. And you've been...terrorized. It's a short distance between fear and anger. They both release a flood of adrenaline. Fight or flight..."

"And I already ran away."

"Exactly," Grissom agreed.

"I'm so ashamed," Sara admitted. "You didn't deserve that."

"Oh, I don't know. Some of what you said was true." He sighed.

"I really am sorry, Gil."

"I'll get over it. Really." He kissed her. "So. I guess we better start packing."

"To go where?" Sara asked nervously.

"Home. Come back with me, Sara," Gil urged.

"Back to...Vegas? I don't think I'm ready...I can't..."

"Where else can you go?"

"It would be nice to take a trip," she said dreamily. "I dunno. Go on the Sea Shepherd. Visit the Galapagos. We could literally walk in the footsteps of Darwin."

"I can't. We're so short." Grissom rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, knowing they needed to decide this. "Taking a vacation...won't change anything. We'll still have to return."

"I'm not well...I'm still...nuts. Wouldn't Vegas make it worse?"

"I can't say. I just know I can't help you from there. You're definitely not getting better here. Dr. Kane is in Vegas–he seemed to help, right?" She nodded thoughtfully. "And there's nothing for you here," he said reasonably. "No place to stay. No help from that center."

"No friends," she added sadly.

"Come back to your friends."

"I don't want them to see me like this. I don't know if I could go back to work."

"You know you don't have to decide any of that now."

She toyed with his hand. Gil quieted her shifting fingers with his thumb, and waited.

"I...what if...?" she took a breath. "I'm afraid, Gil," Sara whispered.

"So am I." Gil's voice was grave. "Come home, Sara. Please?"

There was a silence. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I'll come home. With you."

"Good. Good. Let's go."

**TBC**


	29. Chapter 29

**RAIN**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Conclusion**

As you probably figured out, dear reader, I have moved on from this story and am very involved with others. But I hate leaving everyone hanging. I have read too many fanfictions, invested hours in them, stayed up until the wee hours to read them, only to get to the last page and the story just...stops. The author has wandered away without another word from 2005 or something. It's like reading a great book and then realizing the last portion has been ripped away and is lost. What happened? How did it end? So I hope to clear up those questions with this unusual form of a chapter. This story has already gone on way longer than I planned and is way more angsty, and needs to be wrapped up neatly with a ribbon. Instead of the chapters and chapters it would take to complete this, with all the dialogue and character development, and all the settings and plot twists, I am just going to put down my internal outline and put RAIN to bed. Enjoy. Review if you like. Thanks for your patience!

Here goes.

Grissom and Sara return to Las Vegas. Gris goes back to work without telling anyone that Sara is home. He just hints to Catherine and Brass that she is better. Sara goes for counseling with Dr. Kane. He has her thick medical file and knows better than to ask any more dumb questions. He lets her talk.

After a session or two, Dr Kane prescribes medication carefully tailored to Sidle's condition and needs. First, a strong painkiller. "Depression hurts." It's true. Plus Sara has been so banged up her whole life that she doesn't realize the kind of chronic pain she lives with daily, and how it affects her mood. Sara just toughs everything out. So she gets on a daily dose of Vicodin, and her anxiety and stress go down, her health improves, she is more present and focused. Second, Lamictal. Kane is the first to recognize that Sidle not only suffers from severe chronic episodes of depression, she is also manic. Cyclothemic disorder, it's called. When she is manic, she talks rapidly (overtalks,) can't sleep, can't stay still, takes frightening risks, drives too fast, is moody and irritable and easily angered or sad... impulsive...a workaholic (sound familiar?) So the Lamictal regulates and calms those mood swings. Third, a sleep aid that she only uses as needed. Lack of sleep or restless or disturbed sleep contributes to mental illness and anguish and physical pain. Trust me. I know. So these medications make a huge difference in a short time.

Also within a short time, Kane asks Grissom to sit in on her sessions. A kind of couples therapy, to help with communication and to confront and banish the hidden resentments and baggage. Kane sternly confronts Grissom, to his surprise, and forces him to acknowledge how his cold disregard for Sara all those years contributed to her persistent feelings of worthlessness and self-destructiveness.

They also talk about sex. She has been unresponsive to Grissom's advances since SF and the phone sex, and together they figure out why. She feels cheap and used, she knows that Gris uses sex to "fix" whatever is wrong, but it doesn't work. Need more intimacy and reassurance. Sex comes naturally after the communication and health are improved. They still fight, they still have problems, ups and downs, but the love is deep and strong.

He also tells Gil he is an enabler with Sara's drinking problem. When she had her worst episodes–like the nightmare–it was after a drinking session. Alcohol lowers her inhibitions, makes her respond like her alcoholic parents, and brings back awful memories and fears of being like them.

Sara is as afraid, or more afraid, than Grissom is that he will leave her. So she left him first, to protect herself, at least subconsciously. Gris and Sara reveal how much this fear of abandonment affects their relationship.

Kane and Sidle work on the specific traumas that brought her down. Fear of being followed, stalked. Fear of enclosed spaces or being pinned. Fear of being underwater/drowning. And others. Instead of telling her to just forget them, ignore these fears, he tells her to welcome and acknowledge them for the legitimate feelings they are. That makes them lose their power. They talk for a long time about her ghosts and her mother and father. She is allowed to bury them from where she is, as geography doesn't matter when the ghosts or demons are inside her.

Sara gets better. Grissom invites the gang over for a cookout, with Sara as the surprise guest. She is greeted with joy and love and remembers how good it was to be around these friends and colleagues.

Within a few more weeks, Sara goes back to work. The team is reunited and stronger for being tested. They are all on graveyard as Ecklie has been put in his place.

Grissom finds a healthy bee colony and takes it to study. Sara comes to see it, in her cute little white bee suit. He shyly asks her to marry him. Sara lights up with delight, Yes! Let's do it!, and her face is just...radiant. Beautiful. Full of joy. That radiance banishes even the thought of rain. The sun in her smile defeats the storms and showers.

And this time they take off their helmets and have a proper kiss!

THE END


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